


The Nature of Things

by Zombubble



Series: Dragonflies [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Also Phichit and Viktor friendship, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Birthday Party, Blackmail, Blood, Childhood Trauma, Coronation Ball, Depressive Episode, Drugging, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grief, Implied Violence, Jewish Character, Jewish Viktor, M/M, Mild descriptions of violence, Minor Character Death, POV Victor Nikiforov, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Secret Identity, Surprises, Threats, Viktor still skates, animal death mention, anxiety attack, bark mitzvah, coffee shop AU, coffee shop antics, depressed viktor, jewish victor, latte art as flirting, makkaccino, mild sexual harassment, nonconsensual drugging, puns, scars mention (not self-harm related)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 404,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: Lonely, tired, and stuck in Detroit for two months due to competitions, Viktor Nikiforov decides he's staying. He's not sure what he expects to find, but it's certainly not love, and he certainly doesn't expect it to come in the form of the World's Cutest Barista.But when the pressure of his career threatens to strain his burgeoning relationship, and long-held secrets come into the light, he finds his love tested in ways he'd never anticipated, with life-changing results.





	1. Where I Wanna Be

**Author's Note:**

> Currently scheduled for a monthly update on Monday afternoons, PST.
> 
> Current planned chapter count is 18, though that may fluctuate.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor gets the most important cup of coffee in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [ R U Mine by the Arctic Monkeys.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJvKnlEXhOo)

Viktor Nikiforov is standing outside of a Circle K in Detroit with a cup of shitty coffee in one hand and a bagged donut in the other when he makes what may be the worst decision of his 26 years of life. He’s staying here, at least for the time being. Two competitions, a month and a half apart in the same area of the United States, led to him renting an apartment close to the rink in Detroit for convenience. Not expecting to stay long, he’d brought few things from home. Trinkets, mostly. Some books. His great-grandparents’ kiddush cup that for some reason his mothers had given him rather than keeping for themselves. Makkachin, of course, is here, and adjusting fantastically. Detroit isn’t what Viktor’s used to, but it’s a welcomed change.

It’s not necessarily _better_ than St. Petersburg, per se, but it’s different. Less stifling. The rink is nice, and Celestino has no issue with Viktor using his rink time to practice, so long as he helps some of the younger skaters when he’s able. He’s still getting used to the constant ebb and flow of English around him, but years of practice and international competitions have proven their worth. He eats as he walks to the rink, crisp spring air biting at his cheeks and the tips of his ears. As he walks up the steps to the ice rink ten minutes late, he finishes his donut, tossing the bag and a good two-thirds of his coffee in the trash his way through the doors.

He’s just finished warming up when he sees Celestino wave him over. Skating to the edge of the rink, he leans against the boards as the coach finishes pulling his hair back. “Viktor, congratulations on taking gold! It’s been good working with you,” Celestino starts, before Viktor puts a finger up.

“About that,” he says, “I’m staying in Detroit! I wanted to ask if we could keep this arrangement going indefinitely.”

Looking Viktor up and down, Celestino raises an eyebrow. “Does Coach Feltsman know?”

“Not yet!” Viktor says brightly. “I’ll call him after making arrangements with my landlord.”

Celestino looks concerned. “You’re sure about this, no?” Viktor nods.

“I’ve thought about it, if that’s what you’re asking!” He smiles reassuringly, waving his hand.

Celestino nods, “I’m going to have to talk to the owner, but I don’t see why it would be a problem to have the one and only Viktor Nikiforov training here.” He laughs, and the pit of loneliness deep inside Viktor grows just a little. He hadn’t anticipated anyone having an issue with him staying, because who _wouldn’t_ want to lay claim to Russia’s Living Legend, but it somehow feels worse to have that line of reasoning confirmed.

At least Makkachin doesn’t care about his gold medals.

Remembering that his only real friend is a dog doesn’t help anything, as dear as Makkachin is.

Viktor throws all of his frustration into practicing. He does another short series of warm-ups, and moves into running through his free skate. He lands his first jump badly, but moves smoothly through the choreography that follows. When he barely lands the second, he skids to a stop. Skating a lap around the rink, he shakes out his arms and rolls his shoulders, breathing deeply. Celestino is standing near the center of the rink, eyes following Viktor’s movements carefully.

His second run-through is worse. He touches down after the first jump, and robotically runs through the step sequence, only to pop the next. He runs his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths as he skates to the edge of the rink, stopping just short of the boards. As he drinks water, he notices the younger skaters starting to whisper amongst themselves. Celestino glances back at him repeatedly. He shakes his head and moves again into his starting position.

Viktor’s chest burns, a lump forming in the back of his throat, but after a few deep breaths he feels calm enough to try again, and he takes off for the third time. When he barely manages to stay on his feet after his first jump, he skates quickly around the edge of the rink, gracefully (narrowly) avoiding a collision with a group of younger skaters, and throws himself in to practicing only his jumps. At first he does ok, but as quads turn into triples and triples into doubles, he gets more frustrated. His landings get progressively worse, resulting in an abundance of near-falls and he’s halfway through his signature quad flip when he realizes everything is going wrong.

He ends up sprawled out on the ice, face against its cool surface. He rolls onto his back and lets his arms fall to his sides. Heat crawls up his face and a cold, burning pit of disappointment forms in his stomach. He’s never had this much trouble landing jumps. It’s not that the jumps are his only skill, his spins and choreography have garnered their fair share of attention as well. The fact of the matter is, however, that he’s been _known_ for his jumps for over a decade, constantly pushing himself to increase his technical skills until they took him to the top of the podium and kept him there.

And now the great Viktor Nikiforov is on his back in the middle of an ice rink in Detroit, after a solid hour of practicing jumps without one successful attempt. He barely keeps himself from kicking the ice after he stands up, instead skating briskly towards the exit, determinedly avoiding making eye contact with any of the other skaters. His career _depends_ on his impressive jump repertoire.

_You’re nothing without your jumps._

He angrily puts on his skate guards and makes his way to the locker room.

Halfway through untying his skates, he hears a chipper voice making its way down the hall. A second later, he hears his name.

“Phichit,” he says, turning around.

“Bad day?” Phichit sits on the bench opposite Viktor. He yanks off his tennis shoes and ankle socks, moving to put on his skates.

Viktor sighs as he wipes down his blades. “I’m not allowed to have a bad day,” he says defensively. The instant the words leave his lips he regrets them.

Phichit raises his hands in surrender. “Everyone has bad days.” He smiles, “I won’t tell if you don’t, though!” Despite the early hour, Phichit is as chipper as ever. Viktor is proud to call himself a morning person most of the time, but even _he_ has his limits. Phichit tugs on his skate laces to make sure they’re tied properly, before he stands. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off? Grab some coffee or something. Not convenience store crap, like _real_ coffee.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized Phichit was so familiar with his morning coffee routine.

“I know a place nearby. They’re really good, and their pastries come from a bakery down the street. You can’t go wrong, really. The chairs are comfortable, too. Take a book, take some time for yourself.” He pulls out a note pad, writing a vague address and haphazard series of directions. A small map is drawn at the bottom, a cheerful hamster holding a steaming mug denoting Viktor’s destination.

Taking the paper, Viktor nods gratefully. He finishes putting his skates away, and moves to leave. Before he lets the door close behind him, he looks back at Phichit, “Thank you,” he says quietly. Phichit nods in return, offering a thumbs-up before he heads out to practice.

He calls his landlord and Yakov while he walks. Staying in his apartment won’t be an issue, the landlord happy to keep the apartment occupied indefinitely. Yakov, though, is less than impressed with Viktor’s “rash decision making” and has plenty of choice words about his career (and the apparently imminent destruction thereof). Viktor cheerfully brushes off his concerns, promising an eventual email about setting up a training regimen before ending the call abruptly.

 

He walks into the coffee shop Phichit recommended with a plastic smile on his lips and a deceptive skip in his step. While he waits in line, he busies himself reading the beautifully-written chalkboard menu behind the counter. His coffee selections at the convenience store had been abysmal, though they functioned as intended, and Phichit’s reassuring “ _You can’t go wrong,”_ had given him high hopes. He’s engrossed in the descriptions of the house blends when he hears a soft, melodic voice trying to get his attention.

“Sir?” Viktor looks at the source of the voice, and meets the deep brown eyes of the young man leaning slightly over the counter. “Hi,” the man continues shyly, “Welcome to The Daily Grind, what can I get started for you today?” His smile reaches his eyes, framed by chunky blue glasses. The top of his dark hair is pulled back, held in place by gel and a few bobby pins here and there, while the back and sides are cut fairly close to his head. “Sir?” he says again, and Viktor nearly jumps.

“Can I get a Raf?”

“Sorry?”

Viktor quickly remembers he’s not in Russia anymore, and corrects himself. “Black. A black coffee. Please. Dark roast.” The man smiles and leans back. The sun glints off the silver nametag on his burgundy apron.

“I’ll have that right up!” Viktor can’t help but stare as the barista turns around and reaches for a cup. His black button-up pulls where it’s tucked into the equally-black work pants he’s wearing. Rather well, if Viktor has anything to say about how the material hugs incredible thighs and accentuates an incredibly toned backside. Viktor follows the line of clothing up the barista’s body, ending at the rolled-up cuff of his shirt. His eyes trace the man’s lean forearm, coming to rest briefly on a small oddly-shaped group of scars near his wrist, finally landing on the elegant, manicured hand holding a burgundy paper cup.  All too soon, Viktor’s staring at the same cup in front of him, now with a lid and cardboard sleeve. “That’ll be $2.75.”

Viktor fumbles slightly with his wallet, pulling out a couple of bills and counting out the change into his hand. He gives the money to the barista, and his fingers feel hot where they brush skin. He takes his coffee and moves away from the counter. As he’s dumping in sugar and copious amounts of cream, he catches the barista staring at him with one eyebrow raised and a sly smile on his lips. The tips of Viktor’s ears grow warm and he busies himself with putting the lid back on his drink.

Viktor looks at his coffee, tossing a wink at the newly-dubbed Cute Barista on his way out the door, and he just _knows_ that even if the coffee is terrible, he’ll be back.

 

~*~

 

The coffee is anything but terrible, and he’s back the next morning, and the one after that. Every day he’s greeted by the same smiling face, and every day he leaves feeling a little lighter.

It’s three weeks before he decides to try something different.

It’s a month before he finally (finally!) has a conversation with The Cute Barista.

It starts when he mentions the unfortunate habit pet hair has of getting into even the weirdest places. The Cute Barista’s eyes widen, shining. “What kind of pet do you have?”

“A poodle! His name is Makkachin. He’s ten years old and he has the softest fur imaginable!”

“I _love_ dogs!”

Viktor immediately pulls out his phone. He has over a thousand pictures of his dog and he’s not about to waste the opportunity to show them off. He’s interrupted by a small group of people walking through the door, and The Cute Barista gestures for him to take a seat at the bar.

Ten minutes and three re-made drinks later, Viktor can swear The Cute Barista is scowling at the backs of the departing customers through the most blatantly plastic customer service face Viktor has seen in his life. Once the door closes behind the offending group, however, a genuine smile returns. He glances at Viktor tentatively, and Viktor holds up his phone with his latest picture of Makkachin. The barista’s eyes light up, shining more with each consecutive photo. When Viktor shows him one of Makka covered in packing peanuts, he looks like his day has absolutely been made. Viktor scrolls through his gallery until his phone goes off.

“15 Minutes Until: Be at the rink for practice” flashes on the screen in Russian, and Viktor barely keeps from letting out a groan.

“Gotta go?” The Cute Barista asks softly. When Viktor nods, he smiles. “One for the road?” he raises his eyebrows, holding up a cup.

“Please. Two extra shots, if you don’t mind.” The Cute Barista raises one eyebrow, but starts pulling shots of espresso.

“Long day ahead of you?” He asks as he finishes steaming milk.

Viktor sighs. “Yeah. I’m already looking forward to going home.”

The Cute Barista laughs. “I know that feeling,” he says. “I had to open today. I’m two hours into my shift and I just want to go to my place and boot up my Playstation.” He puts a lid on the burgundy cup in front of him, taking the cash Viktor slides across the counter. As he hands back Viktor’s change, he smiles. “I hope your day goes well.”

Viktor can’t help but smile in return. “I’m sure it will.”

 

~*~

 

Late one afternoon, Viktor is walking Makkachin when he hears a sudden gasp.

“Is _this_ your dog?!” He turns to see a young man in glasses and a blue pea coat over a loose grey t-shirt pointing excitedly at Makka.

Viktor nods mutely.

“Can I pet him?”

Viktor smiles and motions for the man to go ahead. Makkachin’s always brought attention when he’s out and about. It’s hard for people to resist his fluffy hair and cute face, especially when his tongue is hanging out the side of his mouth as it is right now. The stranger kneels down, cuffed jeans hiking further up his legs. He leans forward, offering his hand, and laughs when Makka jumps on him, knocking him to the ground. The man’s messy black hair falls into his eyes, obscuring his glasses, while his manicured hands run through Makkachin’s hair, scratching behind his ears and under his chin until Makka is panting happily.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Viktor says, as he moves to pull Makkachin off of the man.

“I don’t mind, I love dogs,” the stranger says. “I had one, when I was younger. Toy poodle. He looked a lot like Makkachin, here.” Viktor’s brows knit together. He doesn’t recall mentioning Makkachin’s name, but then, the man’s face is six inches from Makka’s tags. He smiles. The man takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’d have gotten a dog when I moved to Detroit, but my apartment won’t allow large pets. My roommate is also worried about the continued existence of his hamsters in the presence of such a,” he raises his hands and does finger quotes, “ferocious beast.” He frowns. It’s adorable. Viktor’s heart does summersaults.

When Makkachin gets distracted by a particularly interesting patch of grass, Viktor offers his hand. The young man takes it, smiling. He jumps lightly to his feet, brushing grass off his knees and (admittedly shapely) rear. “Thanks for that.” He says to Viktor, smiling brightly. “So do you live near here?”

Viktor’s slightly taken aback by the man’s forwardness. “Yes, I do,” he says cautiously.

The man smiles. “Me, too. I’m down that way a few blocks,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Over near the university.” In the interest of politeness, Viktor asks how he likes it. “It’s not bad,” he responds. “We moved here from Alpena while ago. It’s definitely not what I was used to. Alpena’s a small town, so Detroit is…different. Much bigger.”

“Where’s Alpena?”

The man promptly hold his right hand out flat, fingers together and palm up, using his left to point at the middle knuckle on his index finger. “Right there.” He then moves his finger down to point at the base of his thumb. “Detroit is here. Alpena’s about a four-hour drive north, on the coast of Lake Huron.” Viktor belatedly realizes he’s using his hand as a rough representation of Michigan. This explains the oven mitts with maps on them that permeate souvenir shops throughout the state. “What about you?” He asks.

Viktor clears his throat. He’s not looking to get into the details of why he suddenly uprooted his life, but he doesn’t get the impression he’ll be asked. “I actually moved here from St. Petersburg.”

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about Florida.”

Viktor laughs gently. “No, you’re right. I’m Russian. I needed a change of scenery.”

The young man nods, “I can understand that.” He looks at his watch. “I’ve gotta get going, but I’ll see you on Monday, right?” he says as he tilts his head slightly. Viktor squints, puzzled. The man runs his fingers through his hair, small scars on his forearm coming into stark relief in the morning light. Realization hits Viktor like a train.

_It’s The Cute Barista._

“Baruch Hashem,” he says under his breath. _Thank God._ Makkachin loves him, too, which adds points in Viktor’s book. He smiles. “You know, in all this time I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name,” he says smoothly.

“Yuuri,” the man says, holding out his hand. “My name is Yuuri Katsuki.”

He shakes it. “Viktor Nikiforov,” he replies, and if Yuuri recognizes the name he doesn’t show it.

Moving to Detroit was the best decision Viktor has made in a long, _long_ while.

 

~*~

 

It’s early on Monday when Viktor enters The Daily Grind, finding it mostly empty. Yuuri is behind the counter, wiping down his work space, and his face brightens when he sees Viktor. Dropping his cloth in a basin behind him, he holds up one finger and gets started on Viktor’s coffee. Viktor approaches the register, watching red bloom on Yuuri’s cheeks. He jumps when a burgundy cup is almost slammed onto the counter in front of him.

“It’s on the house!” Yuuri blurts out, blush spreading across the tip of his nose.

Raising one eyebrow, Viktor lifts the cup to his mouth. The taste is familiar, and Viktor’s three sips in before it clicks. “You made me a Raf?”

Yuuri nods, the tips of his ears getting pinker. “Y-you mentioned you were from Russia, and I remembered you asking for…something your first time here? So I googled stuff about Russian coffee and wow, I didn’t realize you guys used samovars so often, but uh, I found a description online and….I thought I’d try to make you one.”

 “I missed these,” Viktor says fondly.

Yuuri nods, a shadow of longing flashing across his face. “It’s always nice to have a taste of home when you’ve been away for a while.”

“It is,” Viktor agrees with a nod. He takes another sip of the sweet, frothy drink. “This is really good! Tastes just like the ones I used to get in St. Petersburg.”

Yuuri beams. “There were differing opinions on what was the iconic ‘Russian coffee’ but with how much sugar and cream you’d dumped in, I figured this was my best bet. Were you going to order a pastry as well?”

Heart full to bursting, Viktor examines the pastry display. He finally settles on a fruit danish with an obscene amount of icing, diet be damned. Yuuri drops it in a bag, and sets it in front of Viktor, waving him away as he pulls out his wallet. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yuuri, you already gave me the coffee for free, won’t your bosses…” he trails off as a sly smile spreads across Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri leans forward, across the counter. Viktor’s heart leaps into his throat as his gaze moves across Yuuri’s face, down from his slicked-back hair, to the blue frames of his glasses before it’s pulled into deep brown eyes. The apron he’s wearing enhances the flecks of burgundy around his pupils, and as the sun glints off of Yuuri’s silver name badge, Viktor suddenly finds it very, very hard to breathe. “The coffee was on the house. The pastry’s on _me._ ”

Time seems to stand still. The world around Viktor keeps moving but he’s thoroughly entranced by the man in front of him. Yuuri winks, straightening up as the bell over the door rings. As he moves to take the order of the person who just walked in, Viktor grabs the pastry in front of him and takes a seat at the counter. He eats while he watches Yuuri, a flush spreading across his face as his hands fly over the machinery, elegant fingers pulling together a macchiato with precision. When the customer leaves, Viktor smiles. "I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on." Yuuri's face turns scarlet as he sputters.

"Wh- _what?!"_

Viktor blushes as he realizes what he just said. "Your regular clothes!" He clarifies. "You were in jeans and a t-shirt, I'm used to the black clothes and the apron. I didn't realize it was you until you mentioned seeing me today. You look very different with your hair pulled back." Viktor silently thanks years of dealing with the press for his ability to keep his cool.

Yuuri’s laugh rings clearly through the shop. He smiles and starts cleaning steamed milk out of the frothing pitcher. “I’m sorry,” he says, “the glasses usually give me away. If I’d realized you hadn’t recognized me I’d have told you.” He looks up suddenly, mouth open and unfairly beautiful eyes sparkling. “Makkachin’s fur really _is_ incredibly soft, though!”

Viktor launches into a detailed explanation of his care regimen for Makkachin, which quickly devolves into him showing Yuuri pictures on his phone. He’s just passing pictures of Makka sitting guiltily next to a plate of what had been last Passover’s brisket when Yuuri tugs his sleeve. He looks up to see Yuuri pointing at the clock on the wall. “When do you have to be wherever you usually go?”

Viktor swears quickly in Russian when he sees the time. “In fifteen minutes,” he says, shoulders drooping. He holds up his almost-finished coffee. “Can I get a cappuccino to go?”

Yuuri nods and starts pulling espresso shots. It takes longer than normal for him to hand Viktor’s coffee over the bar, but when he does his eyes are sparkling. “I forgot to sweeten it. So you might, um, want to do that.” Confusion creeps through Viktor’s head as he makes his way to the condiments, but it’s quickly replaced by an almost giddy joy when he opens the cup. Floating on top of the foam is a latte-art rendition of Makkachin, complete with his little tongue sticking out of the front of his mouth. Viktor looks excitedly back at Yuuri, who’s blushing furiously. He meets Viktor’s eyes, and seeing the excited gestures made in the direction of the cup, a small smile creeps over his face. He makes a pointed gesture at the cup he’s holding, mimes writing something, and then points at the one in Viktor’s hand, before hurriedly waving and helping the customer at the counter.

Viktor takes several pictures of the latte-art Makkachin (he dubs it the “Makkaccino” with a small chuckle to himself), posting his favorite on Instagram as he walks to practice, tagging the café in the description. Reaching the rink, he’s about to throw the cup away when he remembers Yuuri’s frantic gestures. Twisting the paper sleeve off, he immediately sees a phone number followed by a looping signature. Excited, he pulls out a phone and makes a new contact.

**To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   [photo attached] Makkaccino!!**

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   (⁄ ⁄>⁄ w ⁄<⁄ ⁄) you finally found my number**

**To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   What do you mean, ‘finally’, I had to finish my drink first.**

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   (•_•) that was the third time i put it on one of your cups**

**To: Yuuri ^_^**  
**> >>   Oh.**  
** >>>   Well I have it now! :)))**

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   (・ω・) obviously. did you enjoy your makkaccino? **

**To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   It was almost too cute to drink :( but your coffee is too delicious for me not to! (and I needed the caffeine ^_^;)**

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   (>////<) i don’t really do anything special, i just follow the recipes.**

**To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   It’s still some of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. **

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   ~(^u^)~**

The man uses too many emojis for Viktor’s heart to take.

 

 **To: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ** **」** **∠)** **＿  
>>>   Look at my Instagram.**

 **From: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ 」** **∠)＿**  
**< <<   Oh, my.**  
** <<<   Who is he? He must be *someone* amazing if you’re making first contact.**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
** >>>   Barista at a coffee shop near the rink.**  
** >>>   Chris you have no idea how beautifully adorable this man is.**  
** >>>   He loves dogs.**  
** >>>   He uses emojis shamelessly, Chris.**  
** >>>   He makes perfect cappuccinos.**  
** >>>   He made me a Raf!**

 **From: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ 」** **∠)＿  
<<<   And when did you meet him?**

 **To: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ 」** **∠)＿**  
**> >>   A month ago.**  
** >>>   The same day I decided to stay here.**

 **From: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ 」** **∠)＿  
<<<   It must be fate.**

 **To: Chris** **∠(** **ᐛ 」** **∠)＿  
>>>   Must be.**

~*~

 

The unusually cold spring wind whistles through Viktor’s hair as he makes his way to The Daily Grind, hands buried in his pockets to keep warm. Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, he turns around and ends up looking directly at a smiling Yuuri, lopsided beanie on his head and a grin to match.

“Are you heading to the café?” he asks, brown scarf fluttering to the side. The other end of the scarf is still tucked into the dark blue jacket Yuuri’s wearing over his work clothes. Viktor nods, looking him up and down.

“You’re not wearing anything warmer? I thought Americans always bundle up.”

Yuuri’s laugh rings through the quiet street. “I grew up in Michigan. You either learn to laugh in the face of the cold, or you move to California,” he deadpans. “I visited Los Angeles once, and they were complaining when it was 50 degrees. Parkas, scarves, those Ugg boots everyone likes for some reason…I was wearing a hoodie and tennis shoes.” Seeing Viktor’s confusion, he clarifies, “Fifty Fahrenheit is like, somewhere around ten degrees Celsius?” Eyes widen in understanding as Viktor lets out a short laugh. Yuuri nods and chuckles again.

They make their way towards the shop. When they’re about half a mile from their destination, Yuuri speaks tentatively. “Viktor?”

“Hm?” Viktor looks over.

“I’m not offended, or anything, but um, I wear a name tag at work? How did it take you almost a month to ask for my name? Or was it because I finally pet your dog?” Yuuri asks, smiling jovially.

Brown eyes are twinkling behind blue frames, and Viktor feels his cheeks getting warm. He runs many responses through his mind, ranging from lighthearted to flirty to sarcastic, his mouth opens before he registers what he’s about to say and-

“I was too busy staring at your face,” _Among other things,_ he practically blurts. He’s rewarded with a small squeak as Yuuri pulls his scarf over burning red cheeks. Somehow his own composure is still intact, and he flashes a smirk and a wink in Yuuri’s direction. “But Makka’s seal of approval was the final deciding factor.”

“Good to know,” Yuuri replies, soft smile almost radiant. Viktor sighs happily.

When they arrive at the café, Yuuri vanishes behind the counter, reappearing a few minutes later with his apron hanging loosely around his neck. He pins on his name tag, looking pointedly at Viktor with a grin, before tying his apron with practiced hands and logging into the register.

Viktor gets his coffee and waits a few minutes to chat, but the line only grows as Yuuri rushes around behind the counter. He catches Yuuri’s eyes, waving his phone in the air as he waves goodbye. Yuuri smiles, briefly raising his hand and nodding in response, and Viktor heads off to the rink for what is a surprisingly productive day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I go crazy 'cause here isn't **where I wanna be**  
>  And satisfaction feels like a distant memory_  
> -Arctic Monkeys, R U Mine
> 
> Huge TY to Isis for agreeing to beta future chapters!!! 
> 
> The coffee Viktor tries to order [ (a Raf)](http://sprudge.com/raf-coffee-russia-91027.html) is really popular in Russia, made by steaming espresso, sugar, and milk together.
> 
> The thing Yuuri does with his hands is something I’ve affectionately dubbed the [Michigan Hand Thing](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/bb/90/8f/bb908fddf42c2bba012d44d12fc793dd.jpg) and is honestly the only way I know how to find my aunt’s house on a map.
> 
> This is an idea that's been floating around in my head for a few months now, and I decided to finally publish what with it being the New Year and all.
> 
> (Happy New Year!!!)
> 
> Planned chapter count is 19 at the moment, though it may fluctuate depending on how the story goes. I have a good chunk of the first half written already (50k+ words so far). I'm planning on updating once about every two weeks, especially at the beginning where I have much of the story completed. My goal is to keep that update schedule going as long as possible!
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> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
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> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	2. It's Way Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor thanks his lucky stars for bad forethought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Laugh, I Nearly Died by The Rolling Stones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QR5g41FtsU)

It comes to be that more often than not, Viktor spends his afternoons in the café, chatting over the bar with Yuuri while he works. It’s become one of the highlights of his day. His anonymity, as fleeting as it may be, offers a sense of warmth and security, and if Viktor had his way he’d be basking in it forever. He’s spent so much time at the top of the world, the center of attention, the freedom he feels is refreshing in a way he’d never expected it to be. These quiet moments ease themselves into Viktor’s routine to the point where, on the days Yuuri’s not working, he doesn’t quite know what to do with his free time.

Much of his spare time is spent reading, curled up on the couch or bed with Makkachin for hours. All of his books were left in St. Petersburg save a few essentials, but living in close proximity to a college means living in close proximity to bookstores, and he takes shameless advantage of this fact. He’s on a first-name basis with clerks in at least three different shops, and is on friendly terms with several more. His appetite is voracious, and he’s amassed quite a collection of novels both fiction and non-fiction, all haphazardly stacked on whatever surface he could find in his apartment. Not for the first time, he seriously considers buying a book case. Treating himself to new furniture wasn’t high on his list, especially when he’d planned on returning to Russia after the competitions ended, but now that he’s here indefinitely (and tripping over books left and right), a bookshelf has become more of a necessity than a splurge. Makkachin seems to agree, if his distress at not being able to sniff around without knocking things over is anything to go by.

Sighing, Viktor decides to make his way to Target. It’s Sunday, so he knows Yuuri isn’t at work, and there’s really nothing else for him to do other than go to the rink. He’d be there already if he had any say, but Celestino and Yakov have apparently joined forces, and have instituted enforced rest days to keep him from overtraining, despite it being the beginning of the off-season. Their concern is comforting, but has directly resulted in Viktor’s restlessness, to his irritation.

It doesn’t take long to choose and pay for his purchase. Leaving the store, Viktor hefts the bookcase over his shoulder (thanking his lucky stars it doesn’t come preassembled) and finally takes a moment to assess the situation. He’d come by bus, a route running almost directly from his apartment to the local Target, but hadn’t thought about needing to transport anything but himself back home.

He’s set the box down and is in the middle of downloading Lyft when a grey hatchback pulls up in front of him. The passenger side window rolls down to reveal Yuuri’s smiling face, his loose hair blowing around in the breeze. “Do you need a ride?”

 _Prince Charming to the rescue._ Viktor clears his throat, “If it’s not any trouble, please.”

Yuuri throws the car into park. “Not at all!” He makes his way to the rear of the vehicle, folding the back seats down and opening the hatchback. They maneuver the bookshelf in with no small amount of effort, finally getting it situated diagonally. The passenger seat in front is moved forward to make room, and Viktor gives a laugh as he tries to fit himself into confined space.

“Sorry about that,” Yuuri says with a grimace. “My roommate usually doesn’t have a problem, but…well, he’s short.”

“It’s all right, you’re doing me a favor! I can put up with no leg room for a little while.” Viktor smiles, tucking his legs up on the seat. It’s not especially uncomfortable, Viktor’s crammed himself into smaller areas before, but it’s still awkward. His shins are jammed up against the dashboard, even folded into himself as he is, and every time Yuuri brakes he feels the hard plastic pressing into his legs.

The drive to Viktor’s apartment is relatively short, Yuuri making his way across the city with confidence. Once they park, it takes them ten minutes to maneuver the book shelf into Viktor’s apartment, and another thirty to make tea and play with Makkachin.

When they go to get started on assembly, Yuuri undoes the sleek grey button-up he’s wearing, laying it gently over the back of the chair. He’s left in an undershirt, slacks, and a black leather belt and shoes. It’s an oddly formal outfit for someone just out and about.

“Do you go to church, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looks back at him, flushed. He combs his hair back with his fingers, confused. Viktor runs his gaze up and down Yuuri’s body once, savoring the view. “You’re dressed more formally, today.” Meeting Yuuri’s eyes, he can only grin as Yuuri glances once, twice at his own clothing before registering what Viktor said.

“Oh, uh, no.” His voice is soft, hesitant, and it’s a while before he speaks again. “I um, I meet with my sister on Sundays. In the morning. We go to brunch.” _Brunch?_ “It’s a nice place, so I dress well.” Sighing softly, he sits back on his feet before looking at Viktor again. “What about you?”

“If I went anywhere it’d be the, um, _synagoga_ , on Saturdays.”

Puzzled, Yuuri frowns.

“We’re Jewish…”

Understanding dawns on Yuuri’s face as his cheeks slowly turn an interesting shade of pink. “Oh, I didn’t mean to- I thought since you – I’m so sorry!” He waves his hands in front of him before settling abruptly, hands on his knees and head bowed slightly.

Laughing, Viktor kneels next to him, prying the instructions from his hand. “It’s alright, I asked you about church, so it was a logical conclusion.” Brown hair flops with a nod. Viktor absently wonders running his hands through it would feel like, the transition from the long, silky strands on the top of Yuuri’s head to the fuzz around the back and sides. How soft would it be?

“Wait, Viktor. What do you mean _we’re_ Jewish? You and…?”

“Makkachin, of course!!” Hearing his name, the dog plods over, flopping down with his head on Yuuri’s lap. Obliging him, Yuuri scratches behind the dog’s ears absently.

“Did he have a bar mitzvah or something?”

“Bark,” Viktor corrects.

“Come again?”

“He had a _bark_ mitzvah. There were dog biscuits. He chewed a stuffed Torah. It was great.” Viktor’s rink mates had humored him, teasing him for months about his devotion to his dog. Viktor threw Makkachin a private birthday party every year since, partially out of spite, partially because Makka’s birthday was the only thing Viktor ever felt like celebrating sometimes. It was nice to pamper someone else.

Yuuri smiles, pushing his glasses back up his nose and scooting to sit next to Viktor to read the directions. After another unsuccessful try at figuring out just how everything goes, they spend ten minutes arguing about how to proceed. Viktor cross-references the English instructions with the French, before giving up and turning to the internet. YouTube tutorials prove to be very good teachers, at least in this case, and an hour later the bookcase stands proudly against the wall.

Books are collected from their perches around the house, Viktor careful to save out those he’s currently _actually_ reading. As well as a few he intends to, and one or two (or four or five) more that have been recommended. Yuuri draws the line there, insisting that, should Viktor have immediate need of any of the books on his shelf, it would be a simple matter to walk himself over. Conceding, Viktor starts sorting his books, first into stacks of fiction and nonfiction, then by genre and author name, until neat piles are perched on every available surface.

Viktor feels Yuuri’s eyes on him as he puts his books on the shelves, lining them up against each other snugly. He runs his fingers across them, ridges of worn spines punctuated by the smooth backs of books he has yet to read through. Stepping back, he surveys his handiwork, noting the shelf-and-a-half or so he has to work with before needing yet another bookcase. A warm feeling overcomes him as he realizes how much he missed having shelves of books nearby. They reassure him, a group of old friends who’ve pulled him through nights of insomnia and times where he was drowning in isolation.

Shuffling behind him pulls his attention back to the here and now, and he turns to see Yuuri petting Makkachin with a grin. Dog fur is getting all over his slacks, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls him closer. He takes off his glasses before Makka starts licking his face, laughing as he moves around to (unsuccessfully) keep from getting dog tongue in his mouth. Viktor realizes, with a start, that it’s been a while since he’s felt lonely enough to rely on books like he used to.

They end up ordering takeout, courtesy of Viktor (“You have to let me pay you back for giving me a ride,” he’d said, to a blushing Yuuri), curling up on the couch with a soap opera to pass the time. Neither of them pay attention, preferring instead to chat as plates and silverware are pulled out and set on the table. Makkachin noses Viktor until he’s been fed, curled up happily in the corner with his bowl.

The food arrives, Viktor tipping generously, and they sit down to eat. Eventually, the topic of conversation moves towards work, and after getting a detailed list of all of the things Yuuri absolutely loathes about working in a coffee shop (“Don’t order a cappuccino if you’re going to ask me to take the foam off. Just order a latte for fuck’s sake,” he’d groused, shoving a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth), Viktor realizes he doesn’t _want_ to talk about his own career. He’s tried, before, just telling people he was a figure skater, but with the internet at everyone’s fingertips, it had never been long before their focus had turned to his career. More often than not he’d ended up fielding questions about figure skating, about his medals, could they come see him skate, and if so could he get them rink side passes. Several memorable occasions had ended with requests to meet other skaters with not-so-subtle hints at desires for a threesome. He listens absently as Yuuri talks about differences in coffees and brewing temperatures, enjoying the sound of his voice.

Viktor takes another bite, trying to figure out how to avoid telling Yuuri anything that might give him away. He could, though. He could come clean, tell Yuuri, and get the awkwardness (and likely heartache) out of the way. He goes so far as to try during a break in conversation, but it’s impossible to make the words come out of his mouth. Yuuri is staring at him inquisitively, eyes searching Viktor’s face.

He must find what he’s looking for, because he shrugs one shoulder slightly before taking another bite. “This woman came in a few weeks ago, right? Now, I’ve been asked for some ridiculous drinks before, but she wanted a small latte with thirteen shots of espresso. Thirteen! And extra syrup, too!! I give this monstrosity to her, and she dumps _even more sugar in it._ She’s asking for a heart attack, honestly.” He scrapes up the last of his sauce with his bread, tearing a small chunk off as an offering for Makkachin.

“Do you get drinks like that often?” Grateful for the chance to keep the topic of conversation away from himself, Viktor encourages Yuuri to continue.

“Not as much as Starbucks, thankfully, since our menu is more limited, but you’d be surprised. I have this one regular, sweet older woman, who always asks for precisely nine pumps of syrup in her mocha. Every time she comes in, without fail. I tried it once, just to see, it’s ridiculously sweet. There’s this other person,” Yuuri’s face twists with displeasure, “he always orders a frappe, always with some sort of special request, and he always walks out muttering about how Starbucks tastes different. We don’t _carry_ the same ingredients or product line, of _course_ it’s not going to taste the same.”

“Any other notable regulars?”

Yuuri’s cheeks flush slightly, his eyes sparkling and full of mischief. “This grad student comes in and gets a latte with eight shots of espresso, but always has us do some convoluted number of pumps of different syrups? It’s different every time, but at least he knows what he wants when he walks in.”

“Oh? Anyone…else?” He smirks, leaning closer.

Rich brown eyes meet his as Yuuri looks at him, cherry-red and smiling. “There’s this other one. Comes in and orders some weird Russian coffee all the time. Asks for whipped cream for his dog on occasion. He sits at the bar chatting all day, he’s a bit of a mystery, but somehow his visits are my favorites.” It’s barely noticeable, but Yuuri’s chewing lightly on his lower lip, fidgeting with his silverware now that he’s finished his food. He glances at Viktor from behind his bangs, glasses resting low on his nose.

Viktor feels his cheeks grow warm. He can’t help but stare at Yuuri, before a grin splits his face wide open. “Maybe the café is his favorite place to visit, too.”

Impossibly, Yuuri’s face comes closer to resembling a tomato. Viktor can feel the warmth in his own spreading across his ears and down to his chest, his breath growing heavier as he holds Yuuri’s gaze. Time stretches impossibly between them, and he’s falling, falling into the rich brown depths of Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri stares back, unwavering. His lips are slightly parted, pupils slowly dilating the longer they stay locked with Viktor’s. The tension between them grows, curling around the two men like a pleasantly warm fog, gently urging them to close the distance. Viktor feels himself leaning forward, slowly but with intent, before Yuuri’s phone vibrates across the table.

Startled, Yuuri almost hits his phone onto the floor, scrambling and grabbing it at the last second. He opens it, eyes skimming across the screen quickly. A look of fond exasperation comes across his face as he quickly types something before shoving his phone in his pocket. “Sorry,” he says, looking back up. “My roommate’s wondering if I’m dead in a ditch somewhere, since I haven’t let him know I was gonna be late.”

“Am I keeping you from something?”

“No!” Yuuri responds earnestly. “No, no, you’re not…he just got worried, normally I’m home right after I meet with my sister, but obviously that didn’t happen today.” He smiles, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. Viktor nods, understanding. He gets up, clearing the plates from the table, while Yuuri puts on his shirt. He doesn’t bother doing it up all the way, leaving the top and bottom buttons undone and the shirttails un-tucked.

Yuuri pulls out his phone again, looking up. “How do you spell your name? So I have it right in my contacts?”

Pausing a moment, Viktor eventually replies, “I don’t really mind if it’s spelled with a C or a K. I normally use a K out of habit. It reads the same in Russian, so it helped when my English was worse.”

“I mean, how do you _actually_ spell it? In Russian?”

Holding out his hand, Viktor takes Yuuri’s phone. The contact screen is already brought up, and he smiles seeing his name put in as ‘Vik(c?)tor.’ He highlights it, switching Yuuri’s keyboard to Russian, and types ‘Виктор ( ´♡ ` )’.  Handing it back, Yuuri blushes further before smiling. “It looks like ‘Binktop’.” Viktor makes a face.

“If you grew up with the Cyrillic alphabet, ‘Yuuri’ looks like ‘Ooogie’.”

Yuuri snorts. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

They share a smile, before Viktor leashes up Makkachin for the walk back to the car. Slowly they make their way to the parking lot, meandering along while Makka carefully inspects each bush they pass. “Do you have any hobbies?” Yuuri asks, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I read. A lot. Obviously,” he replies. He wracks his brain for something else to talk about. Besides the obvious. Coming up empty, he decides to take the plunge. Yuuri’s right, he _is_ a mystery. Experience has taught him to play his cards close to his chest. To answer questions without revealing anything about himself. But he’s _tired_ of it. He’s tired of hiding everything. There’s something about Yuuri that tells him his trust wouldn’t be misplaced. Yuuri is honest, earnest in his desires to make people happy and comfortable. His wit is sharp, but never mean, and his smile comes easily, all things that help ensure Viktor this won’t be the _wrong_ decision. He takes a deep breath.

“I skate, too. Figure skating. Sometimes.” He reminds himself knowing how Yuuri’s going to react now saves him a lot of pain down the line.

“That’s awesome,” is Yuuri’s (unexpected) response. “I do too, occasionally. Not much, just…when I need to get extra energy out.” His phone dings again, somehow more insistent, and Yuuri lets out a sigh. “I should head out, my roommate’s going to start calling if I don’t tell him I’m on my way soon.” Viktor nods. He’d never liked living with roommates, and the instant he could afford to live on his own, he’d seized the opportunity. Things like this were why.

They make their way to the parking lot, and Viktor sends Yuuri off with a hug and a promise to text. As the car’s tail lights pull onto the street and around the corner, Viktor walks Makkachin back to the apartment. Leftovers are slowly packaged up and put into the fridge, in individual meal containers, and Viktor’s curling up on the couch with a hot mug of tea and a book when the silence crashes into him like a tidal wave. Makkachin is breathing heavily, still sniffing around the new bookcase, but his apartment feels lonelier than ever.

He sits against the arm of the couch, opening a random book he’d set on the end table. The words swim across the page, focus impossible. Frustrated, Viktor stalks over to his bookshelf. _Maybe reading Russian will be easier?_ He grabs a book of Russian folklore, running his page over the familiar cover gently. This is one of the few he’d brought from home, a gift from his dedushka, along with his tallit, on the occasion of his bar mitzvah. “ _Never forget your roots”,_ he’d been told. _“Your heritage, your people, these make you who you are.”_ He hasn’t forgotten where he came from, but that doesn’t tell him anything about who he’s supposed to be.

Flopping back down on the couch, Viktor crosses his legs at the ankles. He lays the book down on his lap, his arms feeling leaden, clumsy. He can’t bring himself to open the cover before Makkachin is panting in front of his face, inches above the leather-bound volume in his hands, begging to cuddle. Acquiescing, Viktor lays the book aside, clapping his hands and holding his arms out to Makka. The dog obliges, crawling up his body until he’s cuddled firmly against his torso. Viktor wraps his arms around him, stroking his fur softly. Burying his face in Makkachin’s fluff, he continues running his shaking hands down the dog’s back. The warmth is pleasant, grounding, and for a second, Viktor feels a sort of peace come over him before it fades into familiar numbness. His hands slowly stop shaking, burying themselves into Makkachin’s curls as Viktor sighs deeply.

He’d almost forgotten this feeling, when the world seems all too close, yet too far away. He wishes he’d never remembered.

He scoots his way down the couch, not bothering to turn off the lights. He pulls a blanket over himself, holding Makkachin close, and closes his eyes. His mind is simultaneously full of everything and nothing, flashes of warmth and happiness and smiles in a coffee shop dulled by an oppressive, almost overwhelming static. The last thing he remembers is kicking off his house slippers before a restless sleep comes over him.

 

~*~

 

“I’d love to see you skate someday.”

Viktor looks up from his wallet, half-counted change in his hand. Yuuri’s blushing as he pushes a button on the espresso machine. Viktor swallows quickly. “I’m not very good,” he lies, voice shaking.

It’s then that Yuuri looks up, face unreadable.  His eyes bore into Viktor, like he’s searching for something unnamable. “I’m sure you’re incredible,” he eventually says with conviction. He sounds sure of himself, sure that Viktor’s something more than a hobbyist figure skater, but it’s been months and he hasn’t said anything at all about Viktor’s career. In Viktor’s experience, no one goes very long knowing him without asking about his medals. Logically, it makes sense to assume Yuuri doesn’t know, but doubt still crawls under the surface.

Feeling slightly guilty, he hands Yuuri a fiver, receiving his coffee and change in return. He takes his usual seat at the bar, biting into a blueberry muffin as he watches Yuuri work. It’s late in the day, slow, and when Yuuri is done with his latest wave of customers, he jokingly collapses against the espresso machine.

“Every time someone asks for extra foam with skim milk, a coffee tree dies somewhere.” He declares. “Save the coffee, ask for something within the realm of possibility. Please.”

With only half an hour left on the clock, Yuuri cleans his workstation, telling Viktor about the café as he does so. The original owners still run the place, apparently. A sweet older couple, moved out here from rural Iowa when the toll of running a farm became too much. With no children, they’d relocated to Michigan, starting a failed restaurant before moving into the coffee business. The café has, according to Yuuri, been a local favorite ever since.

Viktor eventually asks why they chose red as their color scheme.

“They originally thought the apron should be blue. Not like a deep blue, but,” Yuuri lets out a short sigh, “like your shirt in your 2014 short program.” Viktor’s eyes widen. He _does_ know. Yuuri nods, “Yeah, right? Eventually they settled on the burgundy though, and it’s kind of become our _thing_ now.”

“Yuuri?” Viktor says, and the man stops in the middle of holding up a rich burgundy-colored cup in demonstration. Viktor continues, “You know who I am?” Yuuri lowers his arm, nodding slowly, breath catching in his throat. “How…how long have you known?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, setting the cup on the counter. “Since I saw you?” Seeing Viktor’s eyes widen in disbelief, he explains. “I was trying to…I-I know it’s…it must be frustrating when everyone treats you differently? Being put on a sort of pedestal and then people are awkward because they’re merely in your presence, and then prying about your personal life like it’s any of their business…I figured you’d want to be treated normally, instead of being fawned over. I just wanted,” he blushes, steeling himself. “I just wanted you to be able to be yourself. Not Russia’s Living Legend, just…just Viktor.”

Viktor nods slowly. The turn of events is unexpected, and he hadn’t planned for the possibility that things may not go badly. He’s been careful, almost paranoid, the last few months, and nothing Yuuri said or did gave any clues that he _knew._

“My roommate skates with you,” Yuuri says suddenly, pulling Viktor out of his thoughts. “Phichit Chulanont?”

“I know him, yes! He’s fun to work with, I didn’t know he was your roommate.”

Yuuri laughs. “Yeah, we’ve lived together for a few years now. He said he told you about the café. He didn’t mention me?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I wish he’d said something sooner, though.”

Yuuri blushes, grinning shyly. Viktor smiles, and after a few minutes of amicable silence, he speaks. “You were right.” Yuuri perks up and looks at him. Viktor stares into the dregs of his tea. “Being treated like a person is…refreshing.” Looking up, his eyes meet Yuuri’s. “It got to the point where people were tripping over themselves to make me happy. As if I was royalty. They looked straight through me at the medals I’d won. I had – _have_ the expectations of a country on my shoulders, and as long as I keep skating well, it doesn’t matter how I feel. It’s all very impersonal.”

Yuuri nods somberly as he rinses a blender. He looks pensive, almost sorrowful, before his face softens. A mischievous smile spreads across his lips. “I _could_ , you know. Treat you differently. If you wanted.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. He swallows the sick feeling growing in his gut. Yuuri turns around, suddenly, and bows extravagantly. “My liege,” he says in a pompous voice, “may I tempt you with another of our handcrafted, highly-caffeinated beverages?” He rises from his bow with a graceful flourish, hitting a stack of paper cups with his hand and sending them flying across the floor. Viktor barely has time to register the surprise on Yuuri’s face before he’s laughing harder than he has in a while. After a brief second, Yuuri’s clear laugh rings out alongside his. It’s the most beautiful music Viktor’s ever heard.

It takes well over a minute before the laughing subsides enough for them to catch their breath properly. Yuuri picks up the fallen cups, smiling widely, while Viktor chokes down the last of his tea, setting the burgundy ceramic mug on the ledge at the far edge of the bar. It’s quickly swept up and placed in a basin, and Yuuri’s back in front of him, leaning on the espresso machine. “I can make a Raf, if you like?” Yuuri busies himself when Viktor nods. “I-I’ve kinda been a fan for a few years now,” he says quietly, adding sugar to the espresso.

“I can see that,” Viktor replies.

“You haven’t been looking as happy when you’re skating, recently,” Yuuri says, barely above a whisper.

Viktor blinks. He hadn’t thought anyone would be able to tell. “What-what makes you say that, Yuuri?”

Yuuri's quiet as he finishes making the drink.

“It’s your eyes,” he finally says as he holds out a steaming cup to Viktor, who takes it thankfully. “Your smile doesn’t reach them anymore.” He rinses out the frothing pitcher. “Smiles are fake, too,” he says matter-of-factly.

“You can tell?”

Yuuri looks up. “I always suspected, but I couldn’t tell, before, not for sure,” he says, after a beat. “I can now.”

Viktor’s heart skips a beat.

 

~*~

 

Practice almost over for the day, Viktor skates to the boards, grabbing water before he finishes cooling down. Yuuri’s been watching him, enraptured, ever since he got off work. Viktor smiles. Yuuri’s presence has been a boost for the last half of practice, he’s landed his jumps consistently and managed to throw a little extra oomph into his step sequences. He’s taking one last lap around the rink when a clamor of voices makes itself known over the sounds of blades on ice and industrial air conditioning. Viktor looks at the doors just in time to see a small group of reporters walk in, cameras already rolling and microphones at the ready. _Probably here about the Grand Prix Series._ His suspicions are confirmed as Phichit is called over for an interview by Celestino. Several cameraman start making their rounds of the rink, getting general footage to be played during segments. Some mingle amongst the other skaters and people in the rink, trying to get a good sound bite.

The next thing Viktor hears is retreating footsteps as Yuuri disappears through a back door. He looks around, and sees Phichit gesturing at him to follow Yuuri. Viktor nods his thanks, hastily putting his skate guards on when he exits the rink and moving as quickly as he can after Yuuri. Once he reaches the cold linoleum of the training facilities, he yanks off his skates and, tying the laces together, slings them over his shoulder. Unencumbered, he runs further into the building, alternating between calling for Yuuri and listening carefully for movement of some sort.

After a few minutes of frantic searching he hears ragged breaths and near-sobs coming from a storage closet. He knocks gently, kneeling just outside the door. “Yuuri? Is that you?”

He hears shuffling.

“Yuuri what’s going on? Can I come in?” He’s surprised when the handle turns, and the door creaks open a bit. He pushes it all the way open gently. Yuuri’s huddled in the far corner, knees drawn to his chest with his arms wrapped around his legs. His face is carefully blank, but his eyes and nose are both red. _He’s been crying_. Luckily, it seems like Yuuri’s done, at least for the time being, making this whole encounter less daunting.

Viktor enters the closet, hanging his skates on the knob after he closes the door. He moves closer to Yuuri, but when Yuuri gently pulls away, he shifts to sit against the adjacent wall. They sit there in amicable silence, Yuuri in his corner, Viktor with his legs crossed in front of him. After a few minutes, Viktor speaks, “Do you want a hug?” Yuuri shakes his head, pulling his knees closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” A shrug. “Is it the media?”

Yuuri hesitates before nodding quickly. Viktor sighs and leans back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were going to show up today.” Yuuri draws further into himself, but nods again. “Do you dislike the press?”

Another shrug. “I get anxious sometimes. It’s been pretty bad all day,” Yuuri says hesitantly. “Groups of people don’t help. Especially not strangers with questions.”

Viktor nods, ever grateful he’s had exposure to Phichit over the last few months. If there’s anything he’s learned from Phichit’s frantic interactions with the younger skaters, it’s how to deal with people who are anxious. Not that he’s very good at it, but he’s not entirely out of his element.

“If you want, I could come get you after they’re gone? They’re probably trying to interview me, or I’d hide with you.” He smiles reassuringly.

Yuuri looks up, contemplative. He carefully surveys Viktor, then nods his assent.

Viktor leaves to deal with the reporters, hanging his skates on the outside of the door so it’s easily identifiable when he comes back. The questions he’s asked are pretty standard, what his goals are, who he’s worried about competing against. When asked why he decided to stay in Detroit, he smoothly responds with a made-up answer about finding inspiration in new experiences. The end of the interview can’t come soon enough, and as soon as the press moves on, he walks briskly towards the back doors, breaking into a run when he’s out of sight of the rink.

He knocks gently when he reaches the storage closet, opening the door when he hears a muffled “come in” from the corner. Yuuri’s still curled in on himself among the cleaning supplies, but his breathing is more natural and his hands aren’t shaking anymore. His eyes are dry, albeit still puffy, and he looks up with a small smile. Taking Viktor’s offered hand, he allows himself to be pulled into a standing position. They make their way carefully to the main rink, taking a side route to the locker room in silence.

When they arrive at their destination, Viktor quickly changes and gathers his things. Zipping his gear bag closed, skates tucked carefully inside, Viktor offers his hand. “I have to walk Makkachin after this, if you want to join me?” He’s rewarded with a small smile and a nod, and they set out in the direction of Viktor’s apartment.

 

On their way to fetch Makka, Viktor looks at Yuuri. “I’m surprised I found you way back there,” he laughs.

A small smile spreads across Yuuri’s face. “I used to love hide and seek as a kid. Played it all the time. I remember this one time I was hiding behind a tree in a park, and there were geese nearby...”

Viktor shudders. “I’ve never particularly liked geese.”

“I _hate_ them,” Yuuri says vehemently. “One of them thought I was trying to attack, so it chased me almost all the way across the grounds, squawking and flapping its wings. I was three, it was as big as I was and frankly terrifying, especially after it bit me.” He holds up his forearm, showing off the small scars near his wrist. Viktor laughs softly, imagining baby Yuuri running away from a honking goose. He receives a light smack on his arm. “I’m _still_ scared of them. I live in _Michigan!”_ Yuuri’s pout is adorably indignant. “There are _so many geese in Michigan,”_ he says under his breath.

Viktor’s laughing dies down and they walk in amicable silence for a few minutes. “I’m scared of cows,” he says after a bit.

“Really?”

Viktor nods. “I don’t even know why, but they’ve always terrified me. I was in Switzerland for a competition a few years ago. Chris and I – Christophe Giacometti, he’s a fellow competitor, he’s Swiss – we visited Lucerne and went up the mountain and there were these cows near the top. They were _massive_ , and had these giant bells around their necks. They just…wandered the top of the mountain like they owned it. Chris tried to get me to take a footpath to the peak with him but I wouldn’t leave the building.”

Yuuri looks over at him. “I mean, cows are dangerous, don’t get me wrong, but if you don’t mess with them, and know how to tell if they’re agitated, you should be fine. They’re kind of cute, actually.” At Viktor’s incredulous look, Yuuri laughs. “I did 4-H for a bit, I’ve spent time around livestock.”

Viktor’s not entirely sure what 4-H is, but apparently there are cows involved. He doesn’t care to know more.

“So you’re just…scared? Of cows?” Viktor nods. “What about horses?”

“Horses are fine.”

Yuuri looks at him out of the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. “What about moose?”

“I haven’t actually seen one in person.”

“They’re huge,” he says, gesturing widely with his arms. “They’re like giant, _giant_ horses. Yeah, like whatever you’re imagining only bigger.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. “Are there moose in Michigan? We have them in Russia, but nowhere near where I grew up.”

Unfortunately, Yuuri nods. “Only in the U.P. though. The Upper Peninsula. We’re on the Lower Peninsula.” He holds his hand out as a map again, this time putting his left hand flat above it, palm down and thumb pointing out at his right hand. He wiggles his left hand a little. “This part of Michigan. We’re on this part,” he says, wiggling his right hand. “We won’t see any in Detroit.”

“What about pigs?” Yuuri asks after a minute, as they’re waiting for a signal.

“Pigs aren’t that big, I’m sure they’re fine.”

Peals of laughter spill through air. “Have-have you ever _seen_ a pig?” Yuuri wheezes, “An actual pig, in person?” Seeing Viktor shake his head, he smiles wider. “Pigs are huge. Bigger than I am. These animals are five hundred pounds of omnivorous stubbornness. I’m gonna have to find a picture to show you, they’re ridiculous.” Several human-to-pig comparison photos later, Viktor understands Yuuri’s laughter.

 

They reach Viktor’s apartment, and he leads Yuuri through the building and to his front door. Once he gets the door open, Makkachin jumps on Yuuri, almost knocking him to the ground. Yuuri pets Makkachin as he pushes him back into the apartment, kneeling down to give him a proper behind-the-ear scratch when they’re over the threshold. Viktor fetches the leash and doggy bags.

Their walk takes them by Starbucks first for drinks (“I always feel dirty when I come in here,” Yuuri grumbles to no one in particular) and then to a local park, Makkachin running in circles once he’s let off the leash. Yuuri and Viktor take a seat on a nearby bench. Eyes closed, Yuuri leans back, savoring the relative quiet of the outdoors. The sun is bright, starting to dip down towards the horizon. The world around them glows steady orange in the light, clouds slowly turning from white to brilliant pinks and purples across the darkening blue sky. Yuuri, basking in the sunlight, is radiant.

Makkachin apparently thinks so too, the way he throws himself onto Yuuri with a stick in his mouth. Reflexes are the only thing keeping Yuuri’s coffee from flying out of his hand, and he laughs as he pets Makka. Taking the stick, Yuuri holds out his cup in Viktor’s direction. Viktor takes it, smiling, as Yuuri hypes Makkachin up before launching the stick with a full-body jump. His lips twitch up at the corners when he sits down.

“Are you feeling better?” Viktor says lightheartedly, voice laced with concern.

Yuuri offers only a small nod in reply before Makkachin bounds over, dropping the stick at his feet. Picking it up, he throws it again, further this time. “The distraction is helping,” he says before taking a long drink of coffee. He scowls slightly, brightening into a smile when he sees Viktor laughing at him. “What?” he asks indignantly.

“Why did you get the coffee if you don’t like it?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I’m here for the company, not the coffee.”

 _He likes spending time with me._ Viktor feels almost giddy, tension in his back and shoulders easing as the smile on his face grows. They sit together, watching the sun sink into the treetops, occasionally throwing the branch for Makkachin when he brings it back. Eventually, they’ve shifted closer, sitting right next to each other, knees touching. Viktor surprises himself when he puts his arm on the back of the bench behind Yuuri. He grins when Yuuri leans closer to him, a smile on his face.

Makka noses at Viktor’s ankle, bursts of cold against the exposed skin. Laughing, he hooks Makka’s leash onto his collar. “Someone wants to get home,” he jokes. “Do you want to join me for dinner?”

Yuuri’s cheeks grow pink, but he shakes his head. “Phichit and I have plans, sorry.” The disappointment in the air is palpable as they walk together.

“You and Phichit are close?” Viktor asks softly.

“Best friends,” Yuuri responds. “I moved in with him when I left my sister’s place, we’ve lived together ever since. That was,” he says slowly, “three years ago? Yeah, thereabouts.”

“Wow.”

Yuuri nods, tossing his cup in the trash as they pass a can. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “But yeah, we’ve lived together the whole time. I’m his hamsters’ godfather, apparently.”

“Do you have any pets of your own?”

Yuuri's face darkens a bit. “No,” he replies flatly. “My dog died a while back. He lived with my parents. He was getting old, so it wasn’t unexpected, but I hadn’t seen him in a while.”

“May his memory be a blessing,” Viktor replies, almost automatically. It makes Yuuri smile, though.

Pulling out his cell phone, Yuuri scrolls through his gallery before pulling up a picture of a toy poodle with greying-brown hair. He looks almost like a miniature Makka, complete with an adorable pink tongue that hangs out of his mouth. He’s lying on plush blue carpet, a manicured woman’s hand scratching him behind the ears. Yuuri pulls his phone back and scrolls a bit, hesitating over a few pictures before scrolling again. The next time he holds his phone out, the same dog is laying on a silk bed spread, chewing a bone.

“His favorite things were those bones. He used to go around the…he’d dig holes everywhere in the yard and just drop the bones in. And leave.” Yuuri looks indignant. “Who just _does_ that?”

“Dogs, apparently,” Viktor replies. “Makka eats everything.” Yuuri looks at him, curious. “Anything and everything. If he can reach it and it seems edible, it’s gone.”

“Sounds like Phichit’s hamsters. They’ll eat whatever they can get their teeth into,” Yuuri says, “if they can get to it. They chewed through Phichit’s skating costume once, like a month before a competition?”

Viktor winces. “Oh no,” he says sympathetically. He’s had to scramble to find a new costume just before a competition. It’s not something he’d wish on even his most bitter rival.

“Yeah, we had to come up with the money to get a replacement made at short notice. Luckily the tailor who’d done it before had extra fabric and still had the pattern, and was able to squeeze his in. The fitting was literal days before he competed. He made it though.” Yuuri's smiling now, recounting the memory. Makkachin pulls at the leash, exploring the base of a nearby tree. Viktor stops to let him.

“So what’s the plan with Phichit?” Viktor asks.

“Movie night,” Yuuri says with a grin. “June’s theme is ‘Road Trips’ so I’m making him watch National Lampoon’s _Vacation._ My week to pick.”

“You do this every Thursday?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Yuuri says apologetically. He glances at the rink as they make their way closer. Viktor tries to avoid looking at it, the visual reminder of the fact their paths will soon diverge. Makkachin has slowed to a walk, seeming to sense Viktor’s displeasure. If a slow pace is what his dog wants, far be it from Viktor to hurry him along.

“Will you be working tomorrow?”

Yuuri smiles, nodding as they reach the rink. “I will, I have the morning shift.”

“I’ll see you then,” Viktor responds with grin. They linger in front of the rink for a bit, neither particularly looking forward to leaving. Reluctantly, Yuuri turns away first.

“I should…”

“Makkachin’s probably hungry, so…”

They almost collide as they move around each other, smiling. “I…I’ll see you tomorrow, then, yeah?” Yuuri asks hopefully as he backs away. He stumbles where the paving isn’t level, but he catches himself, laughing. Viktor nods.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yuuri,” he says quietly, before turning to head back to his empty apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Living in a fantasy but it's **way too far,**  
>  But this kind of loneliness is way too hard._  
> -Rolling Stones, Laugh I Nearly Died
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!
> 
> Thanks also to Isis Nocturne for ensuring coherence.
> 
> Viktor’s “weird Russian coffee” is a [ Raf](http://sprudge.com/raf-coffee-russia-91027.html) and is really popular in Russia. It’s made by steaming espresso, sugar, and milk together.
> 
> The thing Yuuri does with his hands is something I’ve affectionately dubbed the [Michigan Hand Thing](https://assets2.bigthink.com/system/tinymce_assets/3761/original/Mitten_Michigan.png?1477673198) and is honestly the only way I know how to find my aunt’s house on a map.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	3. Constantly on the Cusp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor wouldn't mind getting used to this, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [_Do I Wanna Know_ by Arctic Monkeys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWZCk_Bj54s%20rel=)

Viktor knows Yuuri's knowledge of his career should make him wary, but strangely, it doesn’t. It helps that they talk about plenty of things outside of skating, Yuuri just as interested (if not more so) in how Makkachin’s doing and Viktor’s latest literary adventures. He doesn’t pry about Viktor’s personal life, but the interest is there, in a friendly sort of way. Viktor supposes Yuuri doesn’t have much room to talk, though, given that the list of _Things Viktor Nikiforov Knows about Yuuri Katsuki_ is abysmally short in the family department.

The times Yuuri _does_ mention his career, though, never make Viktor feel awkward. Usually it’s some question, often starting with oddly specific information (“Ok, so in your final step sequence of your 2014 short program,” was one opening that caught him off-guard). Sometimes it’s just clarification on a specific move or piece of footwork. There’s never the undercurrent of animosity Viktor’s come to expect. No one’s trying to knock him down a peg or discover his “secret,” there’s no promise of defeat. Just genuine curiosity and fascination, with a hint of admiration.

Yuuri's enthusiasm sparks something long-forgotten in Viktor; he’s started to enjoy being on the ice again.

The change in his demeanor had been pointed out the first time he video called Yakov. His coach had taken one look at him after the first run-through of his program and raised a bushy eyebrow until it met the brim of his hat. He surveyed Viktor carefully, before letting out a huff of air and telling him his footwork was shoddy. When they hung up, though, he mentioned Detroit seemed to suit Viktor, despite the idiocy behind a spur-of-the-moment decision to move to a foreign country. Yakov has never prodded, though, in that conversation or any since.

He’s thankful.

 

~*~

 

The first time he gets the idea to take lunch to Yuuri, he’s in line at a Thai restaurant they frequent. Yuuri had texted him, lamenting the food choices within short walking distance from the café. A thirty-minute lunch break means he’d barely have time to get back and eat before it ends if he wants anything different.

But if he doesn’t have to go _get_ the food, that’s a full thirty minutes he has to actually _eat._ Decision made, Viktor orders for both of them.

 

He walks into the café half an hour later, food in hand. Yuuri's at the counter, explaining something to a coworker as he unties his apron. When he sees Viktor he gives him a reluctant look before miming eating a sandwich. Viktor smiles. He holds up the bag of food, pointing between the food and Yuuri until the barista’s eyes widen. Yuuri points to himself, mouthing “for me?” with raised eyebrows. When Viktor nods, he grins and holds up a finger, pointing towards one of the tables outside.

Viktor sets the food down, separating it out and putting utensils on napkins. He hears the café door a second later, before a steaming cup of tea is set in front of him. Yuuri smiles as he takes his place across from Viktor. Opening his container, his grin widens.

“I love drunken noodles!” He digs in with fervor.

Viktor nods. “I thought you’d like to have something different from your usual food today.”

Yuuri smiles, mouth full, before swallowing. “Thank you. I made us tea,” he says, gesturing at the cups.

“Do you have jam?”

A curious look comes over Yuuri's face. “Jam for what? Your noodles?”

“My tea.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Viktor huffs.  “I’m Russian. We put jam in our tea.” Viktor doesn’t like jam in his tea as much as a lot of people he knows, he himself uses it relatively infrequently, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to shy away from it now. Not with a point to prove and his national pride at stake.

“The only jams we have are whatever plays on the radio,” Yuuri grins, and when it clicks, Viktor rolls his eyes and smiles. “But yeah, we don't have any. We only carry cream cheese for the bagels. Unless you put cream cheese in your tea?” Yuuri raises one eyebrow, looking at Viktor like he’s desperately hoping the answer is no.

Viktor debates messing with him for a second, before he decides against it. “We don’t.”

Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief. “We have honey and sugar, though, if you want sweetener?”

Viktor considers it for a second, before replying. “Honey, then.” As Yuuri goes to stand, Viktor holds out a hand. “I can get it,” he says, grinning. “You, eat! You have a short window of time and you need the calories to get through the day! It won’t do you any good to fall over in the middle of your shift.”  He’s starting to sound like Yakov, good god.

“Yes, my liege.” Yuuri says with twinkling eyes.

When Viktor comes out with a handful of honey packets, Yuuri's gingerly sipping his tea. Viktor empties three packets into his own, stirring before tentatively taking a sip. Perfect. Yuuri steadily makes his way through the noodles, occasionally making endearingly happy noises. When he’s about two-thirds of the way through his food, he closes the container.

“For my last break,” he says by way of explanation, just before his phone chimes on the table.

 “Ugh. Back to work.” He sounds tired, resigned to the hours of dealing with customers ahead of him. “I just want to go home and play Dragon Age. That’s all I want to do,” he laments, “is that too much to ask?” He packs up his leftovers, tying the bag shut before pulling a sharpie out of his pocket and writing his name on it, a looping signature large enough that it won’t be missed. He smiles at Viktor before glancing back at the café.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “This was nice.”

“Text me tomorrow when you know what time you’re taking your lunch break,” Viktor says, smiling. Yuuri looks puzzled for a second before realization hits, his eyes and mouth widening as cherry-red spreads across his cheeks. He nods with a grin before vanishing into the café.

Viktor has a lunch date tomorrow.

 

Yuuri is positively beaming when he sees Viktor show up the next day, arms full of Mediterranean food and excitement painted across his face. He points at his watch, then holds up five fingers. Five minutes. Viktor can wait five minutes. He’s pretty sure he can wait five minutes.

It takes Yuuri twelve minutes and change to show up, setting hot drinks on the table in front of them as he takes his seat.

“Sorry, I’m really sorry,” he says quickly. “There was a rush towards the end, so I ended up finishing up late and then my manager was telling me about some seasonal drinks she was thinking of, and then I had to make tea for us…” he trails off.

Viktor smiles, pushing his food towards him. “I’m not on a schedule, I just have to make it to the gym later. You’re fine.”

Yuuri nods as he shoves a stuffed grape leaf into his mouth. He stops chewing for a second, before reaching behind him and pulling out his wallet. “Here,” he says, holding out a fifty dollar bill. “For my food.”

“I can’t take that, Yuuri, I have more than enough money. I don’t mind paying!” Viktor holds his hands up as Yuuri waves the bill in front of him.

“They’re my lunches, you have to let me pay.”

“I insist,” he says, crossing his arms with finality.

Yuuri pouts, shoving the money back into his pocket. “Fine but I’m going to start bringing you guys drinks after practice and you can’t stop me.” His tone is firm. Viktor wouldn’t be able to argue if he tried.

Instead, he grins. “That’s fair.”

 

~*~

 

They spend Yuuri's lunch breaks together after that, more often than not. Yuuri in turn becomes a welcomed sight after practices, showing up with a tray of drinks and on occasion a bag of pastries shortly after they finish for the day. Celestino takes less issue with the inevitable distraction when Yuuri starts bringing him coffee, too. Viktor has his suspicions that Phichit texts Yuuri with their ending time to make sure the tea’s still hot when he gets it, since Yuuri consistently shows up within a few minutes of practice ending. Regardless, the routine brightens Viktor’s life. His smiles grow wider. His laughs get louder and less forced.

Even Yuri, the rare times they see each other on camera, tells him he’s looking less like a grouchy old man, and more like a goofy, geriatric idiot. It’s endearing. Yakov doesn’t pester him as much about coming back. Mila hasn’t said anything the few times he’s spoken to her, but Lilia’s commented on how healthy he looks, so that’s something. Georgi…Viktor has yet to talk to Georgi over video. They aren’t particularly close anymore, but they’re the same age and have been training together under Yakov for years. Of all his rink-mates, Georgi knows Viktor best. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to hide his affection for Yuuri for long.

He wants to see how this develops before giving people something to talk about.

Russia has taken the ice, his happiness, almost everything he holds dear. It can’t have Yuuri, too.

 

~*~

 

Viktor knows he’s in deep when Yuuri shows up at his apartment one morning, unannounced and his heart goes directly to heaven. Practice the day before had ended early with a twisted ankle, and he’s decided (more like been told) to stay home, elevating it, and generally trying not to make it worse. Complaining at Yuuri over text helps, and he takes full advantage of that when he realizes he’s out coffee of his own. Reasonably sure Yuuri’s working, he’s surprised to hear a knock on his door, even more so when he sees Yuuri himself on the other side, smiling and holding up drinks and a paper bag.

“What are you doing here?” Viktor asks as he lets him in, heart beating a rhythm against his ribs.

“You said you wanted the coffee fairy to come to your house with…what was it? The blessings of caffeinated bliss?” Yuuri smirks as he holds up the drink tray.

“Something like that,” Viktor replies with a wry smile. _I could marry this man._ The realization hits him with a start. The idea, when he considers it, leaves only a warm feeling curling deep in his chest.

Yuuri smiles fondly, setting the drinks and bag on the counter. “Anyway, I’m not working today, so I thought…” he hesitates briefly, before speaking again. “I got you bagels. And cream cheese. And the salmon spread you mentioned you like.” He pulls the items out of the bag as he explains, finishing when there’s a veritable feast laid out on Viktor’s counter. “I went by the coffee shop and made you a Raf, too.”

Viktor’s happiness threatens to bubble over as a smile stretches across his face. “You didn’t have to do all this for me,” he says, in awe.

“I wanted to,” Yuuri replies firmly. “It’s my day off, and…you’re always dropping by on my lunch break I figured the least I could do was bring you coffee when you’re under house arrest.”

“The bag of bagels is from a completely different store.”

Yuuri’s face turns redder. “I was hungry, too, and it was on the way and they have the salmon stuff. We have three types of bagels and little cups of cream cheese, and I’m sick of all of them. Get your bagel and sit down, you shouldn’t be standing too much!”

They’re just about to watch Spirited Away when Yuuri pulls a pound of coffee out of his bag.

“I got you something,” he says with a wink and a smile. It’s Viktor’s favorite dark roast. He’s not sure how his heart is managing to handle this.

 

~*~

 

One early fall afternoon, Viktor’s walking towards the ice to practice when the sight of Yuuri executing a stunning triple lutz followed by a triple flip stops him in his tracks. As Viktor watches, he recognizes the familiar choreography for Stammi Vicino. He rushes to the boards as Yuuri flies across the ice, watching attentively with renewed awe as the barista moves smoothly through the program. Aside from scaling the quads to triples, Yuuri seems to perform effortlessly, and Viktor can see the song in every movement. Somehow, Yuuri’s rendition of Viktor’s step sequence moves him more than performing it himself ever has, weaving echoes of loneliness and hope together beautifully. After an incredible combination spin – _“He’s not even travelling,” Viktor notes, impressed_ – Yuuri comes to a stop, arms crossed, elbows raised towards the ceiling. He’s breathing heavily, but not painfully so, and Viktor immediately calls out to him.

“Yuuri!! That was _perfect!!”_ Yuuri blushes as he sees Viktor, skating smoothly to the boards. “You’re amazing! Why don’t you compete?”

A sheepish smile spreads across Yuuri’s face as he rubs the back of his head, “I’m not sure I’d do well under so much pressure.”

Viktor makes his way to the entrance, removing his hard guards and setting them aside. Taking to the ice, he glides over to Yuuri, stopping with his face mere inches away. “When you skate, your body is a symphony,” he says quietly, touching Yuuri’s lower lip gently with his thumb. “With the right program, one that emphasizes your strengths, you could be a formidable opponent.”

Laughing slightly awkwardly, Yuuri blushes and waves Viktor off. He skates backwards a bit, and Viktor follows closely. Picking up speed, he catches up, skating alongside Yuuri for a little. Yuuri changes direction, and Viktor follows. The dance continues, until they’re moving together across the ice in tandem to a song only they can hear. They come to a stop, faces flushed, eyes locked together, moments before Celestino’s laugh echoes from the doors. Panting, they both smile at each other before looking away. As Viktor looks at the front entrance, he can see Yuuri blushing and rubbing the back of his head out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitch up in a smile.

Celestino skates over with Phichit, raising an eyebrow in Yuuri’s direction. “Don’t you have work?”

“Shit!” Yuuri hastily waves goodbye before bolting to the edge of the rink. He slams his skate guards on, tripping over himself as he hurries towards the benches. Phichit laughs at him, Viktor chuckles, and Celestino just looks on fondly before putting Phichit (and to some degree, Viktor) through his paces. The workout is strenuous but welcomed, leaving Viktor sore, bruised, and breathing hard, but more satisfied than he’s been in ages.

 

~*~

 

As Viktor walks into the coffee shop one evening, he’s surprised to see Yuuri seated at a corner table. He’s wearing jeans and a loose sweater, a laptop and books spread across the table in front of him. His legs are folded under him on the chair, and he’s hunched over a large textbook. He looks up when he hears Viktor place his order and, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, waves Viktor over while he waits for his drink. Viktor sits at the table across from him while Yuuri stacks his books neatly to the side. _Conflict and Response. World Politics._ _International Relations. Public Policy._ As he reads the titles, Viktor’s curiosity grows. “Majoring in Politics, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nods. “Political Science, yeah, with a minor in Communications.”

“Impressive.” Viktor smiles warmly. “What do you want to do when you graduate?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t necessarily have a career in mind, but…I’ve always been interested in government, so I’m working on my degree and looking at different paths I can take.”

Viktor hears his name called and grabs his coffee. Sitting back down, he’s quiet as Yuuri quickly types something into his computer. Yuuri picks up his cup, draining it before tossing it expertly into the trash can and continuing his work. When Yuuri looks up, Viktor gestures at his own drink. “Do you want something else?”

Yuuri smiles. “Um, yeah, sure. Tea, please. Mint and chamomile.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Tell the barista it’s for me, I get free drinks.”

When Viktor returns with the tea, its calming scent washing over him, Yuuri’s closed his laptop and pulled out a well-worn notebook. His handwriting loops across the pages, an elegant cursive Viktor’s only ever seen on the side of a coffee cup. He wonders briefly what Yuuri’s Cyrillic would look like, how his own name would look carefully written across the page.

Yuuri smiles as Viktor sets the tea down and takes his seat. He takes the cup, inhaling deeply before setting it near the window. He scribbles something down, cross-referencing between two textbooks, and Viktor looks out across the sunlit trees, waving gently in the breeze. Instead of the awkward tension Viktor’s used to experiencing when it’s silent, this is rather nice. Comfortable, easy. He wouldn’t mind getting used to it.

Frustrated grumbling catches his attention, and he looks over to see Yuuri frowning at a book and furiously marking it up. He raises his eyebrows when Yuuri finally meets his eyes. Yuuri closes his book and sighs. “Two of my textbooks are saying two different things about the nineteenth-century political climate of a small country in the pacific, and they’re _both wrong._ ” He runs his fingers through his hair, briefly pulling his bangs away from his face. “I…had to do a paper on this exact thing and just…the authors don’t know what they’re talking about.” ‘Find prev. sources’ is scrawled across his notebook as he reaches for his tea. Cautiously, he blows softly across the lid before taking a sip.

Pushing his books gently to the side, Yuuri finally straightens his legs. He rolls his ankles, cracking them, and smiles at Viktor. Glancing behind him, Yuuri’s face changes from contentment to happy surprise before a clear voice rings through the café.

“Viktor! Yuuri!!” Phichit’s smiling face moves into view as he stands next to their table.

“Phichit!” beams Yuuri.

Phichit places his order before dragging a chair over and plopping down on it. Seeing Yuuri’s look, he laughs. “I’ll put it back when we’re done.”

Grinning, Yuuri nods before sipping his tea again. “What are you doing here?”

The look he gets in response is incredulous. “I just finished practice,” Phichit says. “The café’s on the way home from the rink. Why _wouldn’t_ I drop by?”

“Because I’m not working.”

“And yet you’re still here.” There’s a dull _thwap_ as the back of Yuuri’s hands connects with Phichit’s chest.

“It’s a good place to study. And I _like_ the coffee.”

“Even when you’re not making it?”

The barista sticks out his tongue. “You just want a ride home.”

“Oh, you have your car?” Phichit’s expression turns into one of surprise, his hand coming to rest gently on his sternum. “I had no idea.”

“Phichit, I dropped you off at practice this morning on my way to school, you know full well I have my car.” Yuuri gives him an exasperated look.

Phichit laughs. “Guilty. Can you blame me not wanting to walk back when I’ve been running quads all day?”

Their teasing is light, amusing. The barbs fly across the table, but both of them are smiling, the atmosphere warm and friendly and not at all uncomfortable. Yuuri's smile is open, something about him less guarded in Phichit’s presence. Viktor smiles as he drinks, watching the exchange fondly.

 

~*~

 

Viktor stands in his skates and hard guards, fresh coffee in hand and a sheen of sweat drying on his forehead as he happily listens to Yuuri’s summary of his work day.  Yuuri’s just getting to the good part of a story about his coworkers and flagrant misuse of the espresso machine when the sudden, dull thud of a body hitting plexiglass startles Yuuri enough that he almost drops their drinks.

Viktor, unfazed, looks over and smiles. “Ah, Phichit!”

Phichit’s gesturing wildly for Viktor and Yuuri to move to a different area of the boards with no glass. He’s wearing a bright green shirt today, emblazoned with the phrase “I Rink, Therefore I Am” under an adorable drawing of an ice skating hamster, and he pulls off his gloves as he skates over to meet them. Viktor pulls Yuuri along the boards with him until they reach Phichit, who gratefully takes the cup of tea Yuuri holds out. He glances back at Celestino before taking a sip. He sighs happily, eyes closed and a grin on his face.

“Are you excited to find out where we’re competing?” Phichit asks after a moment.

Viktor doesn’t particularly _care_ where they’re competing, but he’s going to need to know, so he nods.

“Yuuri and I were gonna order takeout tomorrow night and stay up until the assignments were in,” he continues. “You can join us if you want? Yuuri’s paying.”

Viktor smiles at Yuuri, who somehow has gotten rid of the tray he’d been holding. His smile is returned shyly, Yuuri’s eyes half-hidden behind the fringe of his bangs.

“I’d love to. Let me know when I should be there?”

“I get off work at five tomorrow,” Yuuri says. “If you want to meet us at the coffee shop, I can give you a ride to our place. You can bring Makka, if you like.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit says, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Makkachin’s not going to eat your hamsters, Phichit.” He gives him a pleading look.

Phichit relents with a wave of his hand. “Fine, but if any of my babies end up as a snack you’re finding a new roommate.”

“So noted,” Yuuri says, smiling as he sips his tea.

 

~*~

 

“Yuuri! Assignments are in!!” Phichit’s voice rings clearly throughout the small apartment. Yuuri shuffles in from the kitchen, three mugs in his hands and jam balanced in the crook of his arm. He sets the mugs on the coffee table after Viktor takes the precariously perched jar. Viktor adds a heaping spoonful of jam to his tea, settling back while Phichit pulls up the assignments. Makka looks at him sleepily, before jumping on the couch and putting his head on Viktor’s lap where it belongs.

Viktor is surprised to see him and Phichit both on the lineup for the Tropheé de France. Phichit’s other event is Skate Canada, Viktor’s the NHK Trophy, but the shared competition gives Viktor an idea.

“I can pay for your tickets and hotel, Yuuri, if you’d like to come watch Phichit and I compete in Paris.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen slightly, before narrowing again. “I-I don’t know, Viktor.”

“I’m more than able to afford it, and you wouldn’t be a bother, if that’s what you’re worried about. I could probably get you a rink-side pass as well! All I’d have to do is get Yakov or Celestino to add you to one of our teams, and you could watch our programs from the boards!”

Yuuri pulls his knees to his chest, leaning back on the couch. Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply. He waits a bit before he exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders slowly loosening.

“I don’t…I don’t like travelling much, and there’s likely to be reporters and everyone there, and then there are crowds.” His breathing starts to quicken. “And I d-don’t know if I’ll be able to take the time off work, and then there’s school, I have an exam a few days after the competition and I need to study for that…”

Phichit chimes in softly, “Yuuri, it’s ok to say no.” Viktor nods in agreement, as badly as he’s hoping Yuuri will go, and relief spreads across Yuuri’s face as his breathing slowly calms.

“I think I’d just prefer to watch from home, if that’s alright with you guys.”

Viktor feels a sharp pang in his gut, but he nods. After Yuuri’s panic at the rink, it’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to be in front of the media any time soon. Unfortunately, as competitors, both Phichit _and_ Viktor would be constantly surrounded and scrutinized by the press, leaving Yuuri to either hide away by himself, or deal with the circus on his own. If word gets out that he’s there with Viktor, it’d open up a whole new line of near-desperate questioning on the part of reporters there, scrambling for any additional information about Russia’s _National Hero._ Viktor’s never hated the title as much as he does now.

He smiles at Yuuri. “I’d love that,” he says quietly, scratching Makka behind the ears.

Yuuri returns his grin, shifting slightly closer. “I promise to text during your performances,” he says. “Both of you.”

Viktor meets his eyes, holding his gaze for a long minute before smiling gently. “I look forward to it,” he says quietly. Phichit looks at them, eyes flickering between Yuuri's face and Viktor’s for a second, before he smiles and looks back at his phone.

They sit silently on the couch. Phichit scrolls through Instagram, showing the occasional picture to Yuuri (who’s turned on his Playstation and is currently killing an electric swamp dragon), but all Viktor can do is run their conversation through his head repeatedly. He hadn’t wanted to keep his burgeoning relationship with Yuuri, whatever that may be, secret indefinitely, but to do otherwise would put Yuuri in the public eye. A position in which he is clearly uncomfortable being.

Not to mention the amount of travelling they’d be doing. Viktor regularly leaves the country for competitions. He’d either be dragging Yuuri to all corners of the globe, or leaving him alone for days at a time. With his busy schedule, a relationship by itself would be difficult to maintain. Adding in media pressure and frequent trips…How long will Yuuri put up with it before he decides it’s too much, that Viktor isn’t worth the time or effort?

 

~*~

 

The question plagues Viktor over the next few weeks. It’s on his mind when he practices, when he tries to sleep, and – worst of all – when he’s with Yuuri at the café. He’s absorbed in his thoughts one day, making his way to The Daily Grind, when he almost misses an incredibly upset Yuuri running past. Doing a complete 180, he runs after him.

“Yuuri!” he calls fruitlessly. Traffic roars down the street next to them, drowning his next shouts out in a cacophony of sound. Viktor curses as Yuuri keeps running. He ups his pace, finally gaining on him.

 _“Yuuri!!”_ He shouts again, as loudly as he can. That seems to get his attention. Yuuri slows down next to a park, moving off of the sidewalk. When he turns towards Viktor, it becomes clear he’s been crying. His cheeks are an angry, blotchy red. He rubs at his swollen eyes, tears wetting the sleeve of the hoodie he’s wearing.

“Yuuri, what…what’s wrong?”

Viktor watches as Yuuri’s jaw moves up and down, before silently gaping. When he goes to answer, his breath catches in his throat. Curling in on himself, he seems to try gathering courage, glancing around furtively. His breathing steadily quickens and when he clutches his chest, Viktor starts to panic.

“We can go to my place, if you want.” It seems like the best option. Privacy. Familiar surroundings. A dog to hug. Books. Tea. Viktor’s not very good with crying people, but he knows they prefer not to do it in public. It’s a start.

There’s a long moment of near-silence.  Yuuri hiccups gently, but is otherwise still. Viktor’s about to rescind the offer when he nods slowly. Clasping his hand, Viktor leads him the few blocks to his apartment in silence. Yuuri hesitates when they get close to the door, dropping to a slow walk. Whines come from inside the unit, then scratching, and something in Yuuri’s face darkens. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri takes a few steps forward, indicating they should go in.

Once the door is closed, Yuuri collapses against it, holding Makkachin. His shoulders shake as he starts crying in Makka’s fur. As expected, Viktor feels awkward and uncomfortable so he busies himself making tea. When the samovar is plugged in and heating up, he starts adding leaves to a small teapot.

“V-Viktor?” It’s quiet, shaky, but his name pierces Viktor's thoughts like an arrow. In a flash, he’s kneeling next to Yuuri.

“Yes? What is it?”

Yuuri’s face lifts from Makka’s fur, and when his eyes meet Viktor’s, Viktor’s heart shatters. Yuuri looks devastated.

“Viktor, y-you remember I told you my dog died a while back?” Viktor nods. Yuuri’d shown him a few more pictures since then. He’d looked like a tiny Makka. “I just, I miss him,” Yuuri continues, “And some woman came in with a dog today and she looked so m-much like Vicchan, my Vicchan, and I just…My sister’d been texting me old photos she’d found and I’d been m-missing him and th-then the woman came and I…”

He’s breathing deeply now, face buried in Makkachin’s fur.

“I know it’s silly, he was a dog and it was a wh-while ago but I –“

Viktor cuts him off with a gentle touch on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s silly,” he says as sits next to Yuuri, leaning against the door. “If Makkachin died I’d be devastated. He’s been my best friend since I was 16, I can’t imagine life without him. I don’t find it silly at all you’re still missing your dog after a few months.”

“It’s been almost a year,” Yuuri replies quickly.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not still allowed to miss him.” Viktor holds his arm up, smiling when Yuuri takes the invitation to lean against his chest, still clutching Makka. “Grief works in weird ways. I remember when my babushka died. We sat Shiva at home, since Mamulya is an only child, and –“

“Shiva?” Yuuri’s looking at him now, brow furrowed.

“It’s part of the Jewish mourning process, you basically…sit at home and let yourself grieve for a week. People come to pay their respects, usually they bring too much food. But we were sitting Shiva, and some people came in and were just fine, like normal. Others were crying. Some were angry. The biggest thing I learned that week, though, was that grief doesn’t work the way you’d expect it to.” He pulls Yuuri closer to him. “It’s clear that your dog –“

“Vicchan,” Yuuri says softly. “His name was Vicchan.”

“Vicchan,” Viktor repeats. “It’s clear Vicchan was important to you. It’s ok to miss him.”

“I hadn’t seen him in years.”

“I’m sure he knew you loved him,” Viktor says confidently, “you’re too kind for him not to.” He’s rewarded by Yuuri snuggling a bit closer. “I can’t bring him back, but I can offer my dog for you to borrow, if you like. You can always come over and see Makkachin, and if you really want to, you could watch him while Phichit and I are in France!”

Yuuri straightens slightly. “You’d trust me with your dog?”

“Of course I would, Yuuri! I know you wouldn’t let Makkachin get hurt. He doesn’t like the kennels, so I’d been trying to think of a solution, but this would be perfect! You have a dog for when you’re alone, and I know Makkachin is in safe, familiar hands.” He nods emphatically, finishing his speech. Yuuri’s smiling now, through his tear-streaked face.

“I can do that,” he says softly. Makkachin nuzzles closer to him, and he wraps his arms around the poodle.

 

They end up ordering takeout and sitting close to each other on the couch, Makka draped across their laps like a living blanket. They’re finishing their second movie, this time a Miyazaki film about a giant rabbit and a cat that’s a bus somehow, when Yuuri lets out a positively massive yawn. He smacks his lips together blearily, rubbing his face with his hand.

“I should get home,” he says, to Viktor’s dismay.

“So soon?”

Yuuri laughs as he rubs sleep out of his eyes. “Unfortunately. I have work early, I’m opening. My manager let me go early today because I got upset, so I don’t want to be late tomorrow morning.” He puts his glasses back on. “Do you want help doing the dishes?”

Viktor waves him off. “No, I actually don’t mind them. They give me something to focus on.” Yuuri gives a slightly disappointed nod. He clears the table anyway, putting the used dishes in Viktor’s sink, before sinking back down to his knees and coaxing Makka over. When Makka lays his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, he embraces him, burying his face in the curly hair.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, voice small.

“Mean what?”

“When,” he says softly, “…when you said I could come visit Makka?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies fervently. “You’re always welcome in my home.”

Yuuri’s face is still buried in Makkachin’s neck, but the tips of his ears are red and Viktor can see a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. He stands, after a short while, rubbing at his still-red eyes. Viktor finds himself moving towards Yuuri, arms open. Yuuri leans into it, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist as Viktor embraces him. He lays his head on Viktor’s chest, just over his heart, breathing softly.

“Thank you, Viktor.”

“You know, in Russia…with friends we usually use diminutives instead of the full first name.” He feels Yuuri nod against him and smiles. “So call me Vitya, if you’d like.”

“Is me calling you Viktor making you uncomfortable?” Yuuri's voice is muffled against his chest. Viktor squeezes him a little tighter.

“I feel like I’m in trouble for some reason.” Their quiet laughter fills the room.

“Alright, then, Vitya. Thanks."

“You’re welcome, Yuuri.” Viktor returns his smile fondly.

 

~*~

 

The flight to Paris for the Tropheé de France is relatively stress-free. Thankfully, no baggage is lost, and Viktor, Phichit, and Celestino get checked in without issue.  Viktor meets up with Yakov, discussing routines and strategy, ending up at a local rink to run through his programs. He’s sweaty and exhausted after a few hours, Yakov, the demanding taskmaster, pushing Viktor ever further. Jet-lag rears its ugly head, though, and Viktor forgoes his traditional visit to a local restaurant in favor of calling room service and languishing in his hotel room. Rolling over in the soft sheets after he’d eaten and showered, Viktor picks up his phone.

 _Is Yuuri up right now?_ Mentally calculating the time difference, Viktor frowns. Probably. It’s early evening in Detroit. After coming up with a suitable excuse for texting, Viktor presses send.

 

 **To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   How’s Makkachin? (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)** **♡**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
**< <<   he’s doing fine. ( ღ˘ ⌣˘ ღ) **  
** <<<   [photo attached] we’re snuggling on my bed.  ʕ•.•ʔ**

The selfie shows Yuuri propped up on his elbows under his blankets. His loose white t-shirt drapes open where the collar’s been stretched, and his glasses are slightly askew under an unruly mop of black hair. Makkachin’s asleep, facing the camera. His chin is on his front paws, tongue lolling to the side and leaving a wet patch on Yuuri’s blanket.

 

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   That’s adorable!! o(^ ♡^)o**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   he was a sleepy boy after his walk. (∪｡∪)｡｡｡zzZ**  
** <<<   i’ll probably have to walk him again before i go to bed.**  
** <<<   why do dogs go to the bathroom. ( ╥_ ╥)**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   It’s natural!**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   it’s inconvenient is what it is. (￣､￣) **  
** <<<   i just want to play dishonored 2 and makka has to interrupt me**  
** <<<   hence: inconvenient. (￢ ￢) **

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   But you love him!!! （ﾉ´ ♡ `）**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   yes. yes i do. (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ ♡**  
** <<<   how’s paris? ღゝ ◡╹)**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Beautiful, as always.**  
** >>>   I haven’t been much, outside of competitions.**  
** >>>   I should come here during the off-season.**  
** >>>   But it’s nice not having to work so hard to translate everything!!**  
** >>>   I grew up speaking French, so it’s almost like being home!**

 **From: Yuuri  ^_^**  
** <<<   i’ve never heard you speak french.**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Je te montrerai plus tard.**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   i’m not googling that rn**  
** <<<   do you have family in france?**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Nope. My moms, brother, and sister live in Russia. **

He feels his face fall. It’s been years, _years,_ since he’s visited his moms and siblings. Last he’d heard, they’d talked about moving to France, but there’s been no mention of them actually doing so. As far as he knows. He sighs. There are over 3000 new emails in his inbox and he hasn’t bothered with any of them, for all he knows his family’s ready to be part of the first wave of volunteers for a colony on Mars. He opens his last text messages from his maman, words of congratulations.

He has to check the date to figure out which competition it was for. His thumbs hover over the on-screen keyboard as he tries to compose a message. “I miss you!” is quickly deleted, as is “How is everyone??” and “Sorry it’s been almost a year since I’ve bothered contacting any of you.” He supposes it wouldn’t be as hard if he hadn’t done this before. Repeatedly. The general assumption at the rink is that he’s on bad terms with his family, and it’s easier to let them think that than try to explain.

He closes out of the app and puts his phone on the night stand. It’s an early day, tomorrow, and he needs to be well-rested.

 

~*~

 

Viktor is about to go on the ice for his short program when the first of Yuuri's texts comes through.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   давай, витя!!**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   ୧( Ò ‸ Ó)૭**  
** >>>  Watch me skate, Yuuri?**

 **From: Yuuri ^_ ^**  
** <<<   i will (⌒▽⌒)**

 

He smiles as he does a couple of laps around the rink, greeting the audience with a flourish while centering himself. Yakov stands to the side with Georgi, arms crossed, with his trademark scowl on his face. Viktor flashes both of them a brief smile before taking his starting position. The music begins, and he loses himself to the ice.

 

Coming out of the short program, no one is surprised to see Viktor in first. Phichit is in fourth, and when Viktor collects his phone, a slew of unread messages are waiting from Yuuri. A giddy smile stretches across his face, drawing looks from his fellow Russians. Yakov’s hand on his back reminds him that he’s not done yet, there are still interviews to get through before he has time to respond. He takes his skates off, wiping the blades down slowly before putting the soft guards on and putting them in his bag. After he puts on his sneakers, he stands in front of the mirror, adjusting his jacket, fixing his hair, turning himself into the Viktor Nikiforov the public knows and loves.

He fields the interview questions with practiced responses, all delivered with a smile. When asked about his move to Detroit, he cites new inspiration and a desire for adventure as his motivation. When asked if his programs are devoted to anyone, he deflects with an easy laugh, responding that if there were news, Instagram would be the first to know. He talks blithely about his jumps and choreography, hopes for the season, and very pointedly about his dog. When the press has had enough of him, he waves them off happily.

He makes his way to the locker room, face lapsing into the mildly-cheerful, friendly sort of expression he wears in public. He scrolls through his phone, avoiding his messaging app in favor of Instagram. Yuuri’s words are for him alone, and he intends to keep it that way. In the privacy of the locker room, however, when he’s showered and dressed in his Team Russia tracksuit, he sits cross-legged on the bench as he opens up the texts, heart fluttering with anticipation.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   costume is so shiny (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･**  
** <<<   sry im tired rn. ( _   _ |||)**  
** <<<   it’s starting! davai!**  
** <<<   4-3 combo!!!!!**  
** <<<   that spin though °˖ ✧◝(⁰ ▿⁰) ◜✧˖°**  
** <<<   quad flip!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**  
** <<<   step sequence is gr9**  
** <<<   flying sit spins are my fave.  ( ♡｡ ♡)**  
** <<<   yours are the best.**  
** <<<   how do i unsend messages omg  Σ(°△°|||) ︴**  
** <<<   nice combo!!**  
** <<<   that was literally perfect   ∑d(°∀°d)**  
** <<<   can i touch your gold medal**  
** <<<   it is 4 am here don’t judge me**  
** <<<   oh god i have work at six i haven’t slept(-≖ ､ ≖-|||)  **  
** <<<   good thing I make caffeine for a living (─ω─)**

Viktor’s heart does flips in his chest.

 

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   I haven’t won, but thank you!  °˖ ✧◝(⁰ ♡⁰) ◜✧˖°**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   you can do it though. i’ve seen your free skate and it’s amazing.  d(`∀ ` ) **

**To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   (￣ ♡￣;)ゞ Getting ready for work?**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   omw there now. **

**To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Don’t text and drive, Yuuri!! It’s dangerous!**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   i never text and drive.  (•_•)**  
** <<<   i do text and walk though ( •_•)>⌐■-■**  
** <<<   cafe is close enough to my apartment i don’t mind walking (⌐ ■_ ■) **

**To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Can I video call?**

There’s a pause before he gets a response.

 

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   sure.**

Immediately, Viktor’s in his contacts and pressing the call button. Yuuri’s face appears on the screen shortly, cheeks and nose red from the cold. He smiles when he sees Viktor. His hair has bits of sparkling snow on it, illuminated faintly by the thin light of dawn. Small clouds come out of his mouth with each breath, fogging his glasses as he walks. Viktor recognizes a few of the buildings nearby as Yuuri waves at him. “Good morning, Yuuri!!”

Yuuri laughs softly, adjusting his earbuds. “Good afternoon, Vitya,” he replies, sleep still coloring his voice. “How’s everything going?” He sniffs adorably and wipes his face with his free hand.

“As well as they could be,” Viktor laughs. “Yakov’s insisting we go to dinner. Apparently there’s a Russian place nearby he’s been looking to try. He likes having Russian food when he’s away from home, for some reason? I always thought it was more interesting eating local cuisine.” Yuuri’s camera swings wildly, the sound of keys in the background. The camera shifts back to Yuuri again, who looks sheepish.

“Sorry about that,” he says, as the pale blue of the dawn sky framing his face is exchanged for the dark of what Viktor’s sure is the inside of the café. Yuuri turns on a light and his face is thrown into sharp relief. He goes about getting everything ready to open while Viktor chats about the trip so far.

“How do you feel about your free skate?” Yuuri asks, as he stacks cups.

“Mostly worried about landing my jumps, if we’re being honest.” Jumps haven’t been an issue for a while, but Viktor still hasn't managed to push the memories of that disastrous practice out of his mind. Yuuri nods. His phone is propped up on the espresso machine at the moment, offering a decent view of the area behind the counter. “How’s Makkachin?”

“Doing alright still,” Yuuri says, around measuring out coffee beans, “but he misses you.”

Viktor misses his dog dearly as well. One of the hardest parts of travelling has always been the lack of a warm dog by his side, especially late at night when sleep eludes him. The video on his phone is shaky as Yuuri messes with his own, but the reason becomes clear when a notification pops up on his screen.

 

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   [6 photos attached] was gonna send these on break but here  (´ ▽ ` )/~**

They’re all of Makkachin sleeping, or playing, or sniffing inquisitively at a tree near the café. One of them is a selfie, Yuuri laying back on his couch with Makka sprawled across his chest. Both look happily sleepy, Yuuri’s smile lopsided and Makka’s tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Viktor sets that as his new wallpaper. When he switches back to the video app, Yuuri’s in the staff room, putting on his apron.

“-And I told her I had to pick you guys up and she said I was ok to leave early,” he (apparently) finishes.

“Sorry?” Viktor says. He can faintly hear Yakov yelling in the distance, and knows his time is growing short.

“My manager is ok with me leaving early to get you guys from the airport, so you don’t need to catch a taxi.”

“Oh, that’s good! Thank you!” Viktor says, smiling.

Yuuri responds with a nod, before looking out the door. He looks back at the phone with a grimace. “My manager’s here, we’re opening soon. I have to go.”

Viktor hums in agreement. “Yakov’s probably going to come looking for me anyway. Will you watch the free skate?”

Yuuri nods excitedly and grins. “I’ll be cheering you and Phichit on! Davai, Viktor! You’ll be great out there.” A woman’s voice comes into the background. Yuuri hunches over and whispers, “I’ve gotta go, sleep well tonight.”

“Have a good day, Yuuri. I mean it.”

Yuuri laughs, “Yes, My Liege. Now go, before your coach gets mad at you!”

“Madd _er,_ more like.” He’s grinning happily, though, as he waves at the phone in his hand and ends the call. The locker room door opens, and instead of Yakov, Phichit enters, making a beeline towards Viktor.

“Your coach is pissed,” he says.

“Yakov is always angry about something,” Viktor replies nonchalantly. If Yakov truly had an issue, it wouldn’t be Phichit telling him to hurry up.

 

~*~

 

The next morning finds him sitting outside a café, just blocks from the competition venue. Crisp fall air bites at his ears and nose, leaving them an angry red. He takes a picture of the coffee in front of him before sending it to Yuuri.

 

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   [photo attached] It’s good but it’s not yours. ( ˘ ♡ ˘)っ♨**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   (⁄ ⁄>⁄ w ⁄<⁄ ⁄) i’ll bring coffee when i come pick you guys up if you want**  
** <<<   [photo attached] makka took over my bed, the thief. （－︿－）**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   To be fair, you’re not using it at the moment.**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   it’s the principle of the thing though**  
** <<<   g2g, break’s over but i’ll be watching the free skate tonight**  
** <<<   good luck! ∑d(‘▽ ` d)**

~*~

 

Fresh off the ice from free skate warmups, Viktor notices his phone light up with Yuuri's name. Opening the message Viktor taps the attached photo, smiling when he sees Yuuri and Makkachin in front of Yuuri’s laptop, already set up for the livestream. Phichit’s hamsters are in their enclosure in the background, presumably scurrying around.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   makka and phichit’s hamsters and i are rooting for you!!  ＼＼\٩(** **๑`^´** **๑)۶//／／**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^  
>>>   ( ´ ** **♡  ` ).｡ｏ** **♡** **♡**

Yuuri chats idly through the first two skaters, but is utterly silent during Phichit’s skate. When he finally replies, he’s apologetic.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   sorry about that, i was live texting phichit during his program.**  
** <<<   he had a nasty fall at the beginning  (ノ ゜Д゜)ノ**  
** <<<   his chances aren’t good Σ(°△°|||)︴ **  
** <<<   your dog is slobbering on my phone.**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   I can buy you a new one if Makka ruins it! Tell him he’s being a bad boy.**  
** >>>   Be very stern with him, especially if he makes his puppy dog eyes.**  
** >>>   Like this. ( ≖ ､ ≖)  **

**From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   it’s all good, lol. you know i’m weak for puppy dog eyes**  
** <<<   i don’t stand a chance.  ( ˙ ꒳˙ ) **

Viktor moves through his typical warm-up routine, hyperaware of the cameras on him. He wonders if Yuuri's watching him now. The second-to-last skater is called to the ice, and Viktor makes his way to the rink, meeting up with Yakov and Lilia near the boards. He removes his Olympic Team jacket, checking his phone one last time before he takes to the ice.

 

**From: Yuuri ^_^  
<<<   давай!!!!!!!  ＼(´ ▽`)／**

Another text comes in as he’s staring fondly at the screen.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
**< <<   i can see you looking at your phone**  
**< <<   go do your program, vitya!**

He chuckles before handing his phone to Yakov as his name is announced. Skating a lap, he waves happily at the audience, allowing himself to bask in the attention for a bit before he takes his starting position, hands to his sides as he looks down at the ice. Just as the first notes of Stammi Vicino drift through the air, he feels it. A spark, deep in his chest, spreading warmth through his torso. He knows who he’s skating for.

He thinks of Yuuri, allowing his affection — his love — to pour through his body. His movements are fluid, his jumps taking him to new heights. He remembers the cozy afternoons spent chatting at the café, oftentimes only ending when one or the other had an unavoidable obligation. He pours hope into his step sequences, dreaming of a future with Yuuri by his side. As he slides into his ending pose, flushed and out of breath, his dreamlike trance is broken by thundering applause. Roses and stuffed animals rain down around him as he takes his bows. He skates off the ice with a grin, grabbing a large Makkachin plush and some flowers on his way out. Arms filled with bouquets from people standing near the exit, he lets Yakov hold him as he puts on his skate guards before making his way to the Kiss and Cry.

Scores are announced. Viktor’s final score is less than two points away from his personal best (and the current world record), landing him in first by a large margin. He’s nailed his first gold of this year’s Grand Prix series.

He can’t wait to show Yuuri.

His exhibition skate is that night, and the time in between that and his program is spent in a flurry of interviews and press conferences. By the time he gets to his room, he barely has time to shower before Yakov is pounding at the door, telling him to get a move on for the exhibition and banquet.

Once he’s finally at the hotel for the night, showered again and changed into his pjs, he crawls into bed with his phone, plugged in and charging, ready to read through his texts.

He wakes to Yakov yelling that he’s going to miss his flight.

 

~*~

 

The taxi ride gives him time to look at the messages from last night. He opens his app, smiling.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   so those golden shoulder loop things, don’t they get annoying at some point?**  
** <<<   flopping around and shit **  
** <<<   i love the swoop at the beginning**  
** <<<   wow. the emotion??? how????**  
** <<<   (  ゜Д゜)**  
** <<<   sorry i meant to live text but kind of ended up watching**  
** <<<   whatever you did it worked**  
** <<<   that was…**  
** <<<   makkachin is proud of you**  
** <<<   he’s excited to see the gold, lol   o(^▽^)o**  
** <<<   i am toooppkbflr gsjlfffffffffffffffff**

Viktor smiles to himself. Yuuri must have fallen asleep. The next message is five hours later, a selfie Yuuri took on his way to work. He’s smiling sleepily, wind-chapped cheeks bright red in the cold. As they pull into the airport, Viktor checks his ticket and boarding pass. He texts Phichit about meeting up, since neither of them particularly enjoy travelling alone and Celestino’s taking a bit more time on the continent to visit family in Italy.

His phone chimes again while he’s in line for security.

 

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   i can’t wait to see you ( ´ ▽ ` )**  
** <<<   i’ll wait in the baggage claim for you guys (i’ll text phichit this too)**  
** <<<   hope your flight goes well  ~ヾ(・ω・)**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   I can’t wait to see you, too!! And Makkachin!**  
** >>>   Not looking forward to nine hours in a plane, though. (￣ - ￣|||) **

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   you’ll be back in no time. ( ง •̀_•́) ง**  
** <<<   when you start hating travel, think of makkachin waiting not-so-patiently here for you.**  
** <<<   and coffee. i promised coffee.  ( ˘▽ ˘ )っ ♨**

 **To: Yuuri ^_^**  
** >>>   Can you make me something ridiculously caffeinated?**

 **From: Yuuri ^_^**  
** <<<   i’ll see what i can do, my liege (シ_ _)シ **

Viktor makes his way through airport security when he arrives, bypassing the lounge he’d usually use in favor of meeting Phichit by the gate. Phichit’s waiting with tea when he gets there, packets of honey and sugar ready in the carrier.  He smiles at Viktor, still chipper despite the hectic schedule of the last few days, but something weighs on him that wasn’t there last–

Last night. Phichit came in last after a messy fall and several badly-executed jumps in his free skate. His chance to go to the Grand Prix Final is gone. Once Viktor notices, the disappointment is palpable.

He leans back in the plastic chair, sipping his tea.

“You know,” he says after a bit, “at my first Grand Prix competition when I hit seniors, I flubbed a jump so badly I twisted my knee slamming into the boards. First jump of my first seniors short program, and I was practically carried off the ice. I ended up having to withdraw that time.”

Phichit is quiet next to him, taking slow drinks from the cup in his hands.

“I still skated in the next competition,” Viktor continues. “I knew I wouldn’t make it to the final, but somehow the pressure was still there. I had to show everyone what I could do after coming back from an injury. Russia had high expectations for me, but I let them down. Again. I missed most of my jumps, and forgot the transition out of my step sequence into the last triple axel. I came in last, but trained as hard as I could and made a comeback to take silver at Russian Nationals.”

“What’s your point?” Phichit says softly. His knees are drawn to his chest, and he’s resting his chin on them, staring at a distant spot on the floor.

“My point is, even something far more disastrous than what happened at the Tropheé de France doesn’t spell the end of your career, or even the season.” Viktor looks over at the younger skater. “Take the disappointment, accept it, and use it to fuel you. You have incredible potential, and a great love of the sport. That’ll take you far, one day. I’d wager you can make the Final next season.”

“You think so?” Phichit’s voice is small, but carries echoes of determination.

“I’m sure of it.”

 

~*~

 

The landing is uneventful, Viktor and Phichit wiping sleep out of their eyes as they grab their carry-ons. Both of them put on sunglasses, and Viktor covers most of his hair with a lumpy beanie he’d stolen from Phichit who had, apparently, stolen it from Yuuri. They make their way to the baggage claim without incident only to see Yuuri standing there with a tray of coffee and small box of pastries, despite it being early afternoon. The sight of the familiar burgundy cups (and definitely the man holding them) is welcomed after the long journey. Phichit runs over, still energetic somehow despite having spent a solid 9 hours in a metal tube rocketing through the sky. Chatting animatedly, Phichit grabs a cup after Yuuri points to it. Taking a sip, he makes the thank-god-for-caffeine face Viktor knows from early mornings at the rink before taking another long drink. Both men look over as Viktor arrives, and Yuuri holds out a cup of steaming coffee. Viktor takes it gratefully, smiling when he tastes his favorite with a few added shots of espresso.

They’re in Yuuri’s car when Phichit and Viktor are finally allowed to dig into the food. Viktor grabs an onion bagel and two containers of cream cheese out of the bag, while Phichit settles for a croissant. They eat in silence as Yuuri carefully navigates Detroit, cursing under his breath whenever he hits a particularly bad snag. They head to Phichit and Yuuri’s apartment first, Phichit loudly making his desire for a nap in his own bed known. Yuuri teases that the real reason he’s so eager to get home is to check on his hamsters, earning himself an indignant look. Laughing, Yuuri assures his roommate his hamsters have been well taken care of. The three men make their way upstairs, Yuuri pulling Phichit’s suitcase behind him.

Hearing familiar scratches and whines coming from behind the apartment door, Viktor smiles. He’s missed Makkachin while he was gone, despite all of the pictures and texts Yuuri sent to update him. There’s just no substitute for the real thing. Once he’s in the apartment, he lets himself fall to his knees, embracing Makka tightly. All he knows for a brief minute is the warmth of curly brown fur and a familiar tongue on his face. He regales the story of his latest competition, Russian spilling out of his mouth in an endless stream while he strokes Makkachin’s ears, scratching his head in all of his favorite places. Makka barks when he hears about Viktor’s gold medal (though it could be at Yuuri walking across the end of the hall), and Viktor laughs. He spends a few more minutes cuddling his dog before Yuuri appears again, tote bag full of Makka’s things over his arm. Makkachin trots over, nosing at the bag until Yuuri chuckles and pulls out a treat.

“I spoil you, I really do,” he says, scratching Makka behind the ears.

“He deserves every bit of it,” Viktor chimes in. “Don’t you, Makka? Who’s a good dog?”

Three minutes and several impressively exasperated eye rolls later, Viktor and Yuuri are leading Makkachin downstairs for the journey home. The drive to Viktor’s complex is short, and all too soon (not soon enough) Yuuri’s pulling into the guest parking spot. Viktor’s luggage is pulled out of the back of the car, and Makkachin makes it a point to investigate all of the new smells surrounding them. The walk to Viktor’s front door is leisurely, Yuuri insisting on pulling his suitcases so Viktor can enjoy his time with his dog. Once the baggage is in, and Makkachin’s food and water taken care of, Viktor finally has the luxury of enjoying his own couch. Stretching out across the cushions, he basks in the feeling of unlimited leg room and generally being horizontal while Yuuri sorts out the pastries and makes them more coffee. He walks over with a tray full of breakfast, a carafe of coffee, cream and sugar in their own dishes, and a pair of blue and purple mugs. Making his way carefully to the couch, Yuuri nudges Viktor’s legs with his foot until he grudgingly moves enough for him to sit.

As weak as Viktor is for his couch, he’s exhausted and can’t go to sleep any time soon if he wants to get back on a normal schedule without issue. He swings himself into a sitting position, swaying slightly before moving to take his mug from the tray on the table. Copious amounts of sugar and cream are added, and he sits back, sipping creamy, caffeinated bliss. Yuuri scratches the back of his head, buzzed hair sticking up from between his fingertips. He moves his hand forward to comb his bangs out of his face nervously, looking at his watch, before glancing back at Viktor.

“I-I should stop bothering you and let you sleep. Or spend time with Makkachin. Or…something.” He’s halfway to standing when Viktor grabs his wrist.

“Stay? Please?” Yuuri’s eyes widen as they meet Viktor’s. “I need to stay up until eight or so, to get back on schedule. It would help having someone to pass the time with.” Shock melts into some sort of sweet affection, and Yuuri smiles.

Viktor bounces slightly as Yuuri drops back onto the couch. “Sure, I-I’ll stay,” he says, perhaps a little more happily than he intends. He’s blushing now, pulling out his phone as he murmurs about letting Phichit know he’s going to be home late. “Phichit’s probably asleep by now, somehow he just doesn’t get jetlag.” Well aware of this fact, Viktor nods. Every time Phichit comes back from travelling internationally, regardless of the time difference, he’s at the rink, bright and early the next day. Usually too chipper for the rest of the skaters to handle. It’s simultaneously endearing and annoying.

“We should eat something,” Viktor says.

“I can take care of dinner, if you like.” Yuuri holds up his phone, smiling.

“Do you need me to help cook?”

Yuuri grimaces. “I was going to order takeout. I’m not…particularly skilled in the kitchen.”

“I’m sure your cooking tastes fine.”

Yuuri raises one perfect eyebrow. “Trust me, Vitya, you want the takeout.”

At this point, Viktor really doesn’t care as long as there’s food going into his stomach.

 

~*~

 

It’s a sleepy afternoon, a week and a half after the Tropheé de France. Viktor pulls ingredients for borscht out of the fridge, laying them out on the counter. Yuuri is playing with Makka in the living room, and the smell of autumn drifts in on a cool breeze from the open windows. A pot of water and beef simmers gently on the stove. Beets, carrots, and onions lie freshly peeled on a cutting board, and Viktor’s working on peeling the potatoes when he hears footsteps. Yuuri comes into view, leaning against the counter as he watches Viktor work. The expression on his face is curious, but guarded. He continues to stare as Viktor moves to grab tongs to pull out the large piece of meat before slicing it and tossing it all back in the pot to continue cooking.

Grabbing the grater, he can still feel Yuuri’s eyes on him. “Do you want to help?” he inquires. Yuuri hesitates, biting his lip, before nodding. Viktor holds out the grater. Gingerly, Yuuri takes it, turning it over in his hands. When the carrots and beets are set in front of him on a cutting board, he stares at them, too. Taking a beet in hand, he glances between it and the grater, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his brows. Viktor watches for a bit, somewhat amused, before Yuuri looks back up at him.

“I’ve never used one of these before.”

“You’ve never grated potatoes? Cheese?” Yuuri shakes his head, biting his lip again.

Viktor takes the grater from his hand, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary, and trades the carrots and beets out for potatoes and onions. He sets a sharp knife on the cutting board. “You’ve used a knife, right?” Yuuri nods slowly. “Then cube the potatoes, and when you’re done with that, dice the onions. I’ll grate the carrots and beets and finish up what you don’t get to.” Yuuri nods quickly. Viktor turns back towards his task, quickly grating half of a beet before he hears a sharp intake of breath and the sound of metal clanging to the floor.

Red drips down Yuuri’s hand from a cut on his left thumb. He scurries into the kitchen as Viktor turns on the cold water, shoving his injured hand underneath. When he’s offered the first aid kit, Yuuri applies antiseptic and puts a cloth band aid on the wound. Viktor checks the potatoes, happy when he sees them uncontaminated. He switches out the knife as Yuuri makes his way back over, freshly bandaged.

Viktor hasn’t even finished the rest of the first beet when he hears another low curse. Looking back over, he sees Yuuri clutching his left hand again, blood running down his wrist as he moves back towards the sink. Viktor turns the tap back on. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Yuuri shakes his head as he rinses his hand. “My sister always makes food at home.”

“You live with Phichit now, though, don’t you?”

“Takeout is a thing.” His cheeks are slightly red. Viktor moves the cutting board next to the stove, finally noticing what exactly is on it. Two of the potatoes have been messily butchered, uneven pieces moved neatly to one side. The third is cut in half width-wise, both halves perched proudly on the flat ends. One of the pieces has a jagged slice down the side, presumably made as Yuuri cut himself the second time. There’s still no blood to be seen, so Viktor moves the cutting board carefully aside. Glancing back at the sink, he sees Yuuri putting a bandage at the base of his left index finger. Two more are wrapped around his middle and ring fingers, joining the one on his thumb.

“You _said_ you knew how to cut vegetables.”

“You _asked_ if I’ve used a _knife,”_ Yuuri snaps, clenching his fists. He winces, uncurling his left hand, before making his way around the breakfast bar and sitting firmly on a stool. Resuming his work, Viktor finishes grating the beets and carrots, pulling a bowl of diced tomatoes out of the fridge. He dumps the vegetables into a skillet, adding a few things before covering it. When he looks back at Yuuri, he’s picking at the bandages on his fingers, lost in thought.

Viktor moves his cutting board from near the stove to just in front of the breakfast bar, setting a knife next to it. He gathers the cut pieces of potato, methodically evening them out as best he can before tossing them in a bowl. As he goes to cut the untouched potatoes, he notices Yuuri staring again. The knife moves quickly across the board as he cubes the remaining vegetables efficiently.

He’s adding the last ingredients to the soup to let it simmer when Yuuri speaks.

“I’ve…I’ve never had to cook for myself.” His voice is soft, a bare whisper over the bubbling of the soup.

“Your sister didn’t teach you?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I always had homework, or extracurriculars.  She took care of the house and making food.” Somehow he draws further in on himself.

“Huh,” Viktor says absently. “My moms taught me to cook when I was growing up. By the time I moved in with Yakov for training I was able to mostly take care of my own meals. I got better when I moved into my own apartment, though. It’s much easier eating healthy when you know exactly what goes into your food, you know?” Yuuri nods. “That, and everything’s customizable!” Viktor tosses the last of the potatoes into the bowl and pulls out the onions. “You can add this, remove that, whatever you want to switch things around.”

He’s halfway through dicing onions when Yuuri lets out a loud sniffle. Viktor himself is blinking back tears, cutting onions has never been a particularly _fun_ job as far as he’s concerned, but Yuuri is looking around almost worriedly. His eyes land on Viktor’s face, widening.

“Are you _okay?”_ he asks, concerned.

Viktor looks up at him and blinks. “I’m fine, Yuuri. Are _you_ okay?”

Yuuri makes the mistake of rubbing his steadily-reddening eyes. “I just, for some reason…my eyes…”

“It’s because I’m cutting onions.”

“They actually make you cry?”

Viktor frowns, setting down his knife. “Were you under the impression they didn’t?”

Yuuri shrugs, looking down. His ears and cheeks turn a vivid red as he mutters, “I thought that was just on tv.”

“You’ve really never cooked before, have you? Ever, in your life?”

Yuuri pouts and shakes his head.

The borsht eventually comes together, and Viktor ladles out two bowls, topping them gently with sour cream and fresh herbs. He carries the food to the table, bringing with it silverware and napkins, and has everything laid out when Yuuri takes his seat.

“It looks good,” Yuuri says happily, “and it smells divine.” His shoulders give an excited wiggle before he digs in.

“Have you had borsht before, Yuuri?” Viktor asks.

“I did some when I was a kid,” he replies after taking a bite. “One of…one of our neighbors was Russian. She used to babysit me sometimes. She gave me tea and sushki after I got attacked by that goose.” He rubs his thumb over the small white scars on his arm absently.

“Must have been terrifying.”

Yuuri nods. “Some men had to chase it off with sticks. I was tiny and it was very, very big. But when I was all bandaged up, she brought the tea and sushki over for me and chatted for a bit. It was really nice of her. But yeah, I’ve had borsht. Yours is really good.” He blushes before eating more.

Viktor beams. “It’s a family recipe, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I made way too much, if you want to take some home?”

Yuuri considers his offer for a moment, before nodding slowly. “That’d be nice. It’s getting cold, so soup for dinner seems like a good idea. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Something warm inside Viktor curls happily in his chest as they eat.

 

“You don’t have to come with me, Vitya, I’ll be ok.”

“I’m not making you carry this whole thing of soup with an injured hand, Yuuri. We can make Phichit drop me back home! It’ll be fine, I promise,” Viktor says as he finishes spooning the last of the borscht into a large container. He closes it, setting a small bag of fresh herbs on top. “Anyway, you had some tea you wanted me to taste, right?”

Yuuri nods, “So long as you figure out what it tastes like _before_ trying to add jam.”

“What’s the phrase? ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tasted it’? And I don’t add jam to _all_ of my tea automatically, I’m not _that_ bad.” He sticks his tongue out as he puts the soup next to the front door, grabbing his jacket before they lock up and head to the car. Yuuri makes the drive to the apartment carefully as Viktor balances the food on his lap. The trip is uneventful, the walk up almost boring.

This changes when they go through the front door.

“Yuuri, what happened to your hand?!” Phichit’s voice rings clearly through the apartment as Yuuri and Viktor enter, closing the door behind them.

“He had a few accidents while slicing potatoes!” Viktor replies cheerfully. He rests his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder reassuringly, rubbing the back of his neck with his thumb. He doesn’t expect to see Phichit nearly drop his phone, eyes widening before he lets out an unholy screech.

“You _let him in the kitchen?!”_ Yuuri huffs, marching past his roommate to make tea. His cheeks are glowing red, and he glances down at the floor repeatedly. Viktor looks at Phichit questioningly. Phichit handily drags him into the kitchen, gesturing at red crosshatching on the tile in front of the stove, the cupboard where the pots and pans are, and even in front of the counter where the cooking utensils are kept in canisters.

“Viktor, there- there is a _reason_ for this. That’s the No-Yuuri Zone. The last time he tried to make food, things _literally_ exploded, Viktor.” Phichit’s eyes are wide as he pulls out his phone. _“Exploded!_ I was cleaning for _days!”_ He holds up his phone, then, photographic proof of a catastrophic attempt at cooking onscreen. As Phichit scrolls through the images and video, Viktor’s eyes move back and forth between the phone and Yuuri’s mortified face, feeling his own twist into new expressions of horror with each additional photo.

“Wow,” he hears himself say quietly.

He’s no stranger to pictures of cooking accidents, there’s only so much time you can spend on the internet before you hit those sorts of lists, but what he saw on Phichit’s phone screen was chaos the likes of which he’d never seen. Shuddering, Viktor does his best to put the images of broken glass and utterly destroyed cookware out of his head. He takes the mug of tea Yuuri offers, smiling. “You said you weren’t skilled in the kitchen, Yuuri, but that was the most disastrous attempt at cooking I’ve ever seen!”

“You don’t have to say it like _that,”_ he retorts. Then, quiet enough that Viktor’s not sure it was meant to be heard, he whispers “It’s not my _fault.”_

When Phichit disappears into his room, Viktor looks towards Yuuri. He’s sitting at their kitchen table, hair hiding his still-red cheeks. Absently spinning the mug in his hands, he looks deep in thought. Viktor moves to sit next to him.

“Do you want to learn?” he asks, startling Yuuri out of his thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“Would you like me to teach you how to cook?” Viktor looks at him inquisitively.

Yuuri shrugs. “Last time I tried really, _really_ didn’t end well. As you saw.”

Taking a slow sip of his tea, Viktor watches as Yuuri finishes his own, scowling at the cup before setting it aside.

“You know,” Viktor says, leaning forward, “learning to cook doesn’t mean doing it alone. If someone’s there to make sure nothing goes too wrong, you should be fine! It was a one-time thing, anyone can learn to cook.”

“Phichit tried to teach me.” Yuuri looks down at his hands, twisting his mug between them. “It still didn’t end well. He says he follows his mom’s recipes, but he just throws stuff into a pot and out comes dinner. I wasn’t able to get the hang of it.”

“I can at least teach you how to cut vegetables. You could make salads.”

“I could mince,” Yuuri says with a laugh. He sees Viktor’s puzzled expression and smiles. “There’s this- have you seen The Princess and the Frog? The Disney version? Because there’s a character in there, the prince, he can’t cook for anything, but she teaches him how to mince stuff? And he just gets good at that one specific thing. She opens a restaurant, it’s pretty much his only contribution.” He swallows nervously. “Sorry, I’m…I’m rambling.”

“I love hearing you ramble.” If Chris were here, he’d be making fun of Viktor for looking like a lovesick puppy, but he can’t help himself.

 

 ~*~

 

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」 ∠) ＿**  
** >>>   I knew he couldn’t be perfect.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」 ∠) ＿**  
** <<<   Oh no, what happened?**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
** >>>   [photo attached] He can’t cook. I got Phichit Chulanont to send this to me.**  
** >>>   They’re roommates.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
** <<<   Mon dieu, they’re roommates?**  
** <<<   Phichit has shown me pictures of his roommate, Vitya.**  
** <<<   You *are* a lucky man.**  
** <<<   Shame about the cooking, though.**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
** >>>   It sounds like he’s just never learned.**  
** >>>   He’s coming over to my place next week.**  
** >>>   I’m going to teach him some of the basics.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」 ∠) ＿**  
** <<<   It sounds like a date.**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」 ∠) ＿**  
** >>>   I hope so.**

 

~*~

 

The knife Yuuri's holding slides slowly, wetly through the cucumber. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips pursed, as he lines it up and cuts again, each slice more sure than the last. When Yuuri finishes, he’s looking proudly at the pile of cucumber in front of him.

It’s at that point he sees how uneven the slices are, some as thick as his entire thumb and others no wider than his pinky finger. He moans softly, before sliding down to crouch on the floor.

“It’s horrible,” he laments.

“The potatoes were horrible,” Viktor replies. “This is just…very uneven. Besides, you haven’t cut yourself at all!”

Yuuri looks at him.

“You’re learning,” Viktor says gently, kneeling next to him. “I’ve been cooking for years. I bet you know a lot of things about politics I don’t.”

“I’m getting a degree in PoliSci, I took classes. I was _taught_ that stuff.”

“And my mothers taught me how to cook. I fail to see the difference.” He seems to get his point across, because Yuuri stands back up and examines his work.

Thoughtful, Yuuri transfers the cucumber from the cutting board to the salad bowl, before pulling another, peeled and sliced in half length-wise, to the center. Carefully, he makes another cut down the length of it, before slicing it into irregular chunks. His lips tighten as he frowns at the pile in front of him.

“This one looks awful, too.”

“It’s just a cucumber, Yuuri,” Viktor says as he cleanly dices a tomato.

“It’s our lunch, though.”

“It doesn’t have to look perfect to taste fine.” He’s scraping the tomato into the salad bowl now.

Yuuri purses his lips, staring at the pieces of cucumber on the cutting board. “I can’t even cut a vegetable properly. I feel like an idiot.”

“A cute idiot.” Viktor says, cocking his head to the side with a grin.

“Vitya!” The knife clatters on the cutting board as Yuuri buries his face in his hands. Viktor laughs, reaching around Yuuri for a paper towel.

It’s at that moment Yuuri turns around to say something, and Viktor can hear Yuuri’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows. Yuuri flushes, before he starts stammering an apology, shyly playing with his hands in front of his chest. Feeling his own face grow hot, Viktor smiles as charmingly as he can, feeling it falter as he gets lost in Yuuri's gaze. His heart pounds a rhythm in his chest, quickening as Yuuri licks his lips, pulling the bottom between his teeth as he looks at Viktor through his eyelashes. His eyes flicker between Viktor’s own and his mouth before he clears his throat.

“S-sorry.” He says quietly, “I’ll get out of your way.” He starts moving away slightly. There’s nowhere to go, really, being pinned between Viktor and the counter such as he is, so he just turns his head to the side and looks down. Viktor puts his fingers gently on Yuuri's cheek, tipping it back up to face him.

“Yuuri, you’re…you’re fine. You’re perfect.”

Yuuri looks at him then, uncertainty and doubt written across his face, and Viktor moves his hand to cup his cheek. Their eyes meet and the world slows to a crawl as Viktor leans forward. Rocking up on the balls of his feet, Yuuri meets him halfway. Sparks fly as their lips touch, a gentle brush turning into a deep embrace as their arms wrap around each other and it feels so _right._ Yuuri's lips are warm, soft and inviting, tasting faintly of Viktor’s preferred brand of chapstick. When they pull away, Yuuri's eyes are sparkling. Breathing hard, Viktor smiles softly, glad when it’s returned. Brushing hair out of his face, Yuuri clears his throat.

“You…you wanted a paper towel?”

Viktor nods mutely. “For the lettuce.”

 

Hours later, the remnants of their food lay forgotten while they doze on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I'm_ **constantly  
> **  
>  On the cusp of trying to kiss you  
> I don't know if you feel the same as I do  
> But we could be together, if you wanted to  
> \- Arctic Monkeys, Do I Wanna Know
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read so far! Things are starting to pick up and I'm really excited!!! 
> 
> °˖⁺♡ o(O▿O)o ♡⁺˖° 
> 
> The Kitchen Incident as experienced by Phichit Chulanont can be found in [Chapter Two of Closets.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13455048/chapters/31020660)
> 
> Special thanks to Isis Nocturne for beta-ing and making sure my English sounds like English  
>  
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Je te montrerai plus tard = “I’ll show you later” in French
> 
>  
> 
>  **Mint and chamomile:** A great tea when you need to calm your emotions and/or your stomach. Very soothing. Similar to Sleepytime tea.
> 
> Jam in tea is popular in Russia. I’ve never tried it myself, and can’t make any comments towards the quality, but I intend to change that.
> 
> [ Rafs](http://sprudge.com/raf-coffee-russia-91027.html) are really popular in Russia, made by steaming espresso, sugar, and milk together.
> 
> The film they watch is My Neighbor Totoro (となりのトトロ) by Studio Ghibli
> 
>  Viktor and Chris went up to the top of [Mt. Pilatus in Lucerne, Switzerland.](http://www.luzern.com/en/excursions/pilatus)
> 
> [Sushki (singular: sushka) (Сушки (sing: сушка))](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sushki) are small, crunchy and lightly sweet bread rings, made similarly to bagels.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
> 
>  
> 
> I'll be posting updates to my tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	4. Got Your World In My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, birthdays are celebrated, and Viktor can finally say he's happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Princes of the Universe by Queen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZ1WyBGG_Vw)

“So, Viktor.” Phichit skates over, coming smoothly to a halt. “You busy next weekend? Outside of practice?”

“I’m going to be in Japan for the NHK Trophy.”

Phichit’s eyes widen slightly. “Shit, I forgot.”

“Why?” Viktor asks curiously.

“It’s Yuuri's birthday on the 29th, but that’s a Tuesday so I thought the weekend before…” Phichit furrows his brow, twisting his mouth to one side as he considers this.

“What’s keeping us from celebrating that day?”

Phichit shrugs in response. “I thought it’d be easier, I guess? We could make it work, though. Yuuri works the morning shift on Tuesdays, so he’d be home in the early afternoon. If you and I can get off practice around that time, we should be able to kidnap him for dinner, and take him home to watch a movie and do cake. Or something.”

“That sounds good. I don’t mind paying for dinner if you’d like.” That can be part of his present. He has no idea what else he’s going to get Yuuri, though.

Phichit puts his hand on his chest, relieved. “Oh, thank god. I was hoping you’d say that.” Glancing at the entrance to the rink, his eyes widen as he sees Yuuri. “Ok,” he says, “I’ll text you to set up plans.” He waves as Yuuri makes his way over.

Viktor nods happily as a drink tray is set down on the boards.

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asks with a grin.

Phichit skates over smoothly, taking his drink from Yuuri's outstretched hand. “Viktor was promising to help me with my quad toe loop,” he says easily.

Viktor nods in agreement, taking his Raf. He smiles at his name, written in large cursive on the side, before doing a double-take. It’s in Cyrillic, and the looping letters are far more beautiful than he’d expected. Yuuri notices his smile, blushing when Viktor looks at him happily.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says shyly.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Can you write anything else?” Phichit asks with a grin.

Yuuri scowls in lieu of an answer, bright red.

 

~*~

 

Viktor walks up to the address he was given, looking for the small door in the wall Yuuri had described to his manager. Finding it, he enters, going up the narrow staircase carefully so he doesn’t spill the drinks he’s carrying. The door at the end opens to a small benched area with carpet. The wall opposite is glass looking into a dance studio, inside of which Yuuri is on the floor doing the splits. _Quite_ impressively. He sees the woman standing nearby frowning as she talks, and Yuuri runs his fingers through his hair before sitting all the way forward and resting his head on his arms.

The woman keeps talking with quick gestures, but startles when she sees Viktor through the glass. She says something, and Yuuri's head jerks up. He looks over and sees Viktor, giving a wave, before jumping smoothly to his feet. Grabbing his bag, Yuuri moves to leave the room when the woman catches his arm, saying something into his ear. He nods, biting his lower lip, and then heads in the direction of the door.

He smiles when he leaves the studio. “Did you bring them?”

Viktor holds up Yuuri's car keys. “Yep!”

Yuuri smiles, rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks, I’m sorry you got pulled into this.”

“It’s no issue, your manager was really nice about asking,” Viktor replies cheerfully. “I brought drinks!” He holds up the tray in his hand. Grinning, Yuuri sits on the bench to trade out his dance slippers for sneakers. He’s finishing tying his shoes when the woman comes out.

“Yuuri,” she says. When he looks up, she holds up a water bottle. Yuuri stands, taking it, before he looks back over.

“Viktor, this is my ballet instructor, Minako Okukawa.”

“Hi,” Viktor says as he holds out his hand, “I’m Viktor Nikiforov.” Minako takes it with a smile and shakes it vigorously.

“A pleasure,” she says.

Yuuri pulls on a sweater. “Minako’s been teaching me since I got to Detroit,” he says as he gathers his things. “She’s kind enough to let me use her studio when I need to unwind.” When Viktor holds out his tea, Yuuri takes it happily.

“Yuuri's been kind enough to help me when he can on the days my assistant is unable to. It’s a fair deal in my book,” she says brightly.

Yuuri smiles affectionately at his teacher. “I’ll be back Saturday after work, if that’s ok?”

Minako nods. Viktor tosses the tray in a nearby trashcan before reaching his hand towards Yuuri, who smiles as he takes it. “Thanks! See you soon!” He says, before they’re going back down the staircase.

Yuuri's car is half a block away, and it doesn’t take long before they’re driving towards Viktor’s apartment.

“I didn’t know you did ballet, Yuuri,” Viktor says.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve done it off and on since I was a kid. It’s good stress relief, especially when the rink’s closed.” He takes a left into traffic and sighs. “Minako’s really nice. She lets me come by whenever, usually, unless it’s the middle of the night.”

“That’s good. Stress relief is important, you should take advantage of the opportunity!”

“Yes, My Liege,” Yuuri laughs. Somewhere along the line, the words have gone from an inside joke to a term of endearment Yuuri uses when Viktor gets bossy. It brings a smile to his face every time. Yuuri's hand moves towards Viktor, who eagerly clasps it with a grin. Yuuri looks at him, bright red, before screwing up his face as he tries not to laugh.

“What is it?” Viktor asks, completely lost.

“I, um…I love holding your hand, don’t get me wrong, but I was going for my tea.” Yuuri chuckles when Viktor pulls his hand away. The car inches forward as he picks up his tea, blowing across the mouth of the lid before taking a drink. They’re stopped again when he sets it back in the cup holder, and he holds his hand out, palm up, in Viktor’s direction. Viktor looks at him, seeing only a smile, and takes it gladly, threading his fingers through Yuuri’s. They ride in silence the rest of the way, only breaking contact when one or the other gets thirsty.

Viktor whips up dinner when they get to his apartment, a vegetable-heavy pasta dish he made up a few years back. Yuuri takes a shower first, changing into clean clothes from his duffel, and then leaves with Makkachin for his walk while Viktor cooks.  When he gets back, cheeks red and eyes bright from the cold, Viktor’s just setting the sauce to simmer. He's pulling off his coat as Viktor steals the chill from his lips with a kiss and a smile. Blushing, Yuuri looks at him through his lashes. Viktor unwraps Yuuri’s scarf tenderly, brushing snow-dusted hair behind his ears. His eyes closed, mouth open in a broad smile, Yuuri is adorable. Beautiful. Viktor cups his cheek, pressing a kiss to his nose, feeling hands come to rest on his arm, cool to the touch.

“How was the walk?”

Yuuri looks at him. “Everything went fine. He did his thing. Took too long to sniff at some bushes, because of course.”

“There are always new bush smells,” he says, as Makkachin jumps up. He scratches his dog behind his ears. “Were you a good boy Makkachin? Do you want a treat?” Makka pants happily as Viktor reaches for the bag.

“I gave him one outside,” Yuuri says quickly.

“He can have another one, can’t you, Makkachin?” Viktor makes what he’s sure is a downright disgustingly adorable face at his dog as he feeds him. Makka takes the treat from his outstretched hand before turning away and trotting to the other side of the living room. Viktor’s face falls. He didn’t raise Makkachin to be this rude.

“He only loves you for your treats,” Yuuri says wryly.

Viktor scowls at him before checking on the food. Yuuri follows him into the kitchen, coming up behind him to look over his shoulder eagerly. “Would you stir the noodles?” Viktor asks as he seasons the sauce.

Yuuri reaches for the spoon slowly, moving his arm wide around the steam. He takes it, carefully moving it through the water and noodles. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his lower lip held between his teeth as he tries not to spill boiling water over the edge.

“How do you know when they’re done?” he asks softly, looking at Viktor.

“They’ll be very slightly firm when you bite them, but not chewy,” he responds as he sets his spatula down. He moves behind Yuuri, putting one hand around his waist, wrapping the other around the hand holding the spoon.  He stirs a little more deeply than Yuuri, two or three times around the pot, before pulling the spoon out. “It doesn’t need much, just to make sure nothing’s sticking together.” He feels Yuuri's hair brush against the side of his head as he nods. They set the spoon down, and Viktor kisses the curve of Yuuri's jaw before letting him turn around.

He pulls out a colander when the noodles are finished, setting it in the sink. Smiling at Yuuri, he gestures towards the pasta. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Of what?”

“Straining the pasta.”

“How?”

After a short but thorough explanation, Yuuri looks at the pot, and glances at the sink. Rolling up his sleeves, he grabs two potholders, putting them on, and picks up the pasta. He walks gingerly towards the sink until he’s able to put the pot on the counter, tipping it so it pours into the waiting colander. Viktor feels himself smile with Yuuri, who appears very proud, turning to Viktor with a grin when he’s done.

“Did I do alright, coach?”

Viktor smiles, nodding happily. Dinner is served in short order and eaten almost as quickly, both men positively famished from the day’s activities. They do the dishes together, laughing when Makka attacks the odd bubble that erupts from the dish soap container. Yuuri hunkers down on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and his school binder in front of him, while Viktor grabs the novel he has sitting at the side of his bed. He’s mere chapters from the end, the story is getting really good, and if he finishes this one tonight, he can start the next tomorrow. Or tonight, depending on how things go. Taking his place at the other end of the couch, there’s very little small talk before they settle into a comfortable silence.

 

“Hey, Vitya?” Yuuri's nervous voice breaks through the quiet evening a few hours later.

“What is it, Yuuri?” Viktor closes his book, setting it on his end table. Yuuri's set his readings down and has his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them protectively. His hair flops in his face, hiding his eyes.

“I’m just letting you know I’m going to be taking a trip soon. For school. To Hasetsu. My thesis paper’s on the Socioeconomical Ramifications of the Transfer of Power from Colonizer to the Formerly-Colonized, my focus is Sachima, and there’s some documentation that can only be accessed in-person at their archives.”

“When is this?”

Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath. “January. Early January. I might end up leaving at the end of December? It depends on how things go.”

Viktor mulls things over. He’s not sure Yuuri would want someone to go with him, but…he _does_ hate travelling, and Viktor’s an experienced traveller with more than enough money to make sure everything goes smoothly. It’s worth a shot for a chance to see the world with him.

“I should go with you!” he says excitedly, “I’ve never been to Sachima  before!!” He’s been to Japan of course, but not the small island nation off the coast.

“What?” Yuuri's eyes widen as he pulls away from Viktor.

“It’ll be like a vacation!” Viktor beams.

Yuuri swallows thickly. “You…you want to come with me?”

“Of course! You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” Viktor’s smiling now, but he can see trepidation in Yuuri's eyes.

Averting his gaze, Yuuri clears his throat. “You…you understand this is a research trip, right?”

Viktor nods. “I’ll be fine! I travel alone all the time!” He doesn’t. Yakov usually accompanies him with these last few months being the rare exception, but he’s no stranger to travel in general and it’s been a while since Yakov had felt the need to supervise his sightseeing.

Yuuri plays with his hands, lost in thought. “I could look into it,” he says slowly. “Talk to the university. You’re sure you won’t mind me disappearing a lot?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I can always find a way to entertain myself! I’ll find brochures and take some tours. It’ll be fun! And when you have time, we could visit things together.”

Nodding, Yuuri moves closer to Viktor.

“If you’re sure,” he says quietly.

Planting his lips on Yuuri's cheek, Viktor nods. “I’m sure.”

 

~*~

 

Two days later, Yuuri pulls out a thick envelope of paperwork after they finish dinner.

“The university needs you to fill out these forms in order to accompany me,” he says shakily.

“When do they need to be done?” Viktor picks the forms up. They’re pretty standard. Release of liability, background check, medical background, emergency contact information…he smiles despite the mountain of paperwork to fill out because it means he’s _going._

“They should be done as soon as possible but we need them back in the next week.” Yuuri keeps his eyes on his plate as he explains, shoving a stray piece of meat in his mouth when he finishes.

Viktor pulls out a pen. Yuuri raises an eyebrow as Viktor gets to work, pushing his bangs behind his ear as he bends over the table. The forms are simple enough, Viktor’s filled hundreds out in several languages over the years, and he finishes them in 45 minutes. When he sits back in the chair, combing his hair away from his face, Yuuri has his DS out. He chews his tongue as he skillfully works the buttons, smiling as a happy tune plays. His eyes flick up to Viktor, and he shifts forward, saving his game.

“How much did you do?” he asks.

“All of it,” Viktor replies casually.

“You…finished _everything?”_   Yuuri looks at him in awe.

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “I did!” he responds happily. He shoves the papers into the envelope they came out of, sealing it with the metal clasp. “When do you think we’ll hear back?”

“We should have approval for your visa within the next week.”

“So soon? How likely am I to be approved?”

Yuuri stills, looking at him for a second, before leaning back with a sigh. “Very likely, since it’s connected to the university. They’ll send all necessary documentation to us shortly after, I'll let you know when I have it.” He puts the parcel safely in his bag.

Viktor takes an unpleasant gulp of his now-cold tea.

“So everything should be sorted soon?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says quietly, “it should.”

 

~*~

 

The flight to Sapporo would have been long and boring, had Viktor not slept nearly the entire way. His Makkachin tissue box peeks out of his bag, bringing a smile to his face as he collects his things to disembark. The trip to the hotel is easy, once he manages to hail a taxi, and Yakov has already checked them in, meeting Viktor in the lobby to give him his keycard. After getting his things situated, he changes into his swimsuit, grabs his phone, towel, and key card, and heads downstairs to the pool, almost jumping when a hand wraps itself around his waist.

“Vitya, it’s been a while.” Chris says, smiling as he comes into view. He’s wearing a silk bathrobe, holding a bottle of champagne and a glass in his free hand.

“Too long,” Viktor says, lapsing into French with a grin. It’s good to see him again.

“And how is Coffee Boy?”

Smiling fondly, Viktor sighs. “Wonderful.”

“You seem absolutely infatuated with him.”

Viktor pauses as he slips his keycard into the gate handle.

“I am,” he says as he pushes the gate open. Chris follows him in. The pool area is empty, the cold a strong deterrent, and they set their stuff down on a pair of lounges near the deep end, laying their towels out over the backs.

“I'm worried, though,” Viktor continues after a pause, and he’s really not sure _why_ exactly he’s talking to Chris about it, other than the fact the man has a boyfriend practically no one’s laid eyes on and might be able to offer some input. “I’m worried about how we’re going to…he doesn’t like travel and gets anxious about the media. I'm, well, _me,”_ he finishes lamely, sitting down.

Chris opens the champagne. “I’m sure you two can figure _something_ out,” he says as he fills the glass. He offers it to Viktor first, who waves it off. Chris drains it quickly.

“I hope so. He’s been on edge, recently. We’re taking a trip soon, so it might just be that, but…I’m not exactly unrecognizable, and he knows it.” Viktor takes the newly-filled glass when it’s offered, downing half of it in one go.

“You don’t want to be the cause of his discomfort?”

Viktor sighs, nodding.

“Have you talked to _him_ about it?” Chris looks at him inquisitively as Viktor drinks the rest of the champagne.

“No.”

“Well, there’s the start of your problems.” Smiling, Chris refills the glass, taking a sip. “You need to talk to him, Vitya. Until you do, you won’t know how to make things better.”

Viktor runs his fingers through his hair, before getting up and walking towards the pool. The water shimmers in the night, steam rising gently from its surface. The clear blue is inviting, and Viktor jumps in without hesitation. He resurfaces, moving his wet hair out of his face, in time to see Chris stand, setting the champagne and glass down on a table nearby. There’s a moment of hesitation before he disrobes, but when he does, he folds the silk carefully and lays it gently over the back of the chair. He turns, posture open and confident. He looks more comfortable now than the last time they’d been in a pool together, when he’d been swimming awkwardly in a loose t-shirt over his binder. He stretches quickly, confidently, before diving in and surfacing near Viktor. They float in silence next to each other, staring at the sky. The stars shimmer overhead, glittering pinpricks in the dark of the night.

It takes only a few minutes before Chris suggests they take selfies. Likely as a distraction, but Viktor goes with it. He dutifully likes each post on Instagram as it loads, reposting his favorites. Scrolling through his feed, he sees a post by Phichit from the night before, a selfie of himself with part of Yuuri’s shoulder and hair in the corner. Their stove is behind them, a large pot of soup simmering on top.

 

  **@phichit+chu: making #dinner with the roommate! he’s not half bad (anymore)**

 

Viktor smiles, liking the photo. Phichit’s been refraining from tagging him in posts with Yuuri, citing Yuuri's need for privacy, but Viktor likes every one of them just the same. He smiles again when he comes across another picture by Phichit, this time of Makkachin on his bed, chewing away at a bone.

 

**@phichit+chu: #makkachin chilling at my place while @v-nikiforov competes at the #NHKTrophy. давай, виктор!!**

Another one to repost. He saves the picture and re-uploads it.

 

 **@v-nikiforov: @phichit+chu He looks like he’s doing so well!! (** **ﾉ´** **ヮ´)** **ﾉ** **♡**   **ขอขอบคุณ**

He gets a “you’re welcome” comment from Phichit a few minutes later, followed by a text from Yuuri. Yuuri includes a selfie of him and Phichit cuddling Makka on the couch, and Viktor smiles happily before Chris clears his throat.

“Coffee Boy again?”

Viktor nods. “He’s taking care of Makkachin right now, so he sends updates.”

“And how’s the old boy doing?”

“He’s doing well,” Viktor says gladly. Makkachin’s health has been good, thankfully, and he’s still got the same boundless energy as when he was a puppy, when he wants to. Viktor misses him, though it feels good knowing he’s with familiar people. A shiver runs through him as a cold breeze whistles through the courtyard. Checking his phone, he mutters a curse when he sees the time.

“I should head to bed, Yakov wants me at the rink early.” Gathering his things, he wraps his towel around his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.”

“Vitya,” Chris says as he walks away. He stops, looking back. “Talk to him. I’m sure you guys can find a way to make this work.”

Viktor nods, before heading back into his room.

 

~*~

 

The picture onscreen shows Makkachin curled up on Yuuri's bed, nose buried under his tail and sleeping peacefully. His hair shines in late afternoon light, looking as soft as Viktor knows it is. He sighs. Saving the photo, he sets it as his lock screen before returning to the text chat.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
** >>>   So peaceful! He looks well-rested!! ( ´ ♡ ` )**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
** <<<   he was rowdy this morning on his walk, but we played a bit so he settled down ＼( ￣ ▽￣) ／**  
** <<<   then we went to the park once i was off work**  
** <<<   he chased a squirrel ( ღ˘ ⌣˘ ღ)**  
** <<<   he was covered in snow, it was adorable ( っ´ω`) ﾉ ʕ• . •ʔ**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
** >>>   Did you get a picture? **

**From: Yuuri <3**  
** <<<   [photo attached] he dove into a snow bank**  
** <<<   notice his butt is still brown (^∇ ^)**  
** <<<   i brushed him, don't worry <(‾︶‾)>**

A laugh escapes Viktor when he sees the picture. Makkachin has both paws on Yuuri’s stomach, and he's panting happily at the camera. His entire front is caked white, brown tail a blur behind him. Yuuri’s hand cups the side of his head gently, knocking chunks of fresh snow to the ground. Viktor changes his lock screen again. This photo includes Yuuri, albeit only a glimpse, but is still innocuous enough that he won't be recognized by anyone glancing at the phone when Viktor’s not around. It's as good as he’s going to get for now.

Another picture follows shortly of Makkachin scratching furiously at a spot of Yuuri’s carpet, newly-brushed hair a brown halo around him.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
** >>>   He's so handsome! ☆＼(^ω^＼)**  
** >>>   I appreciate it!**  
** >>>   How is work?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
** <<<   uneventful, but i like it that way sometimes**  
** <<<   it's not as fun as when you're here, though (;ω;)**  
** <<<   i’m going to miss it**  
** <<<   when we're in Hasetsu  ( ╥_ ╥)**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
** >>>   I'll be home soon. (ɔˆ ³(ˆ ⌣ˆc) ♡**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
** <<<   o(^^o) ... (o^^)o ... (*>.<*)**

Viktor arrives at the rink, shoving his phone in his pocket before making his way to the locker room. He puts on his costume carefully, sliding the zipper up his back, then laces his skates. After stashing the rest of his things and putting on his Olympic Team jacket, he makes his way out to the boards. Yakov is standing near the other coaches, eyes scanning the entrances until he sees Viktor making his way over.

His phone buzzes with a new notification, and he pulls it out before coming to a stop. Yuuri's sent a selfie of him, Makkachin, and Phichit, all holding (or “holding,” in Makka’s case,) Russian flags.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
** <<<   you can do it!! we’re rooting for you, vitya!!!**  
** <<<      ＼(* ＾ ▽＾*) ／ ʕ•.•ʔ＼(* ＾ ▽＾*) ／**

He smiles at the nearest camera. He has no idea if it’s the one Yuuri's seeing right now, but hopefully it was picked up somewhere.

When he finishes warming up, Yakov begins his customary pre-skate advice session, barely giving Viktor a chance to breathe before he’s next up. He glances at his phone to see a few more encouraging texts, and smiles fondly. When he hands his phone to Yakov, the coach is staring at him, expression thoughtful. He removes his skate guards, handing them off before taking to the ice to greet the roaring crowd. Skating a few laps, he waves with a flourish, before taking his starting position and moving into his routine.

 

Yakov is yelling in the Kiss and Cry when Viktor’s score is announced, putting him in first. Not for the first time, he vaguely wishes he’d come in second just to see what happened. Maybe to have a sense of something to prove, to work for, rather than scraping up medals by virtue of showing up. Yakov, at least, is pleased with the outcome, not objecting when Viktor heads straight for the locker room. He reads Yuuri's texts on the way, smiling with each emoji and note of encouragement.

Once he’s showered and changed, he leaves to talk to the press before he can head back to the hotel. On his way, he stops into a small restaurant, ordering food through what he feels is a clever combination of charades, Google translate, and pointing at what looks good. The owners smile at his halting Japanese when he thanks them. When he walks into the hotel lobby he nearly runs into Yakov, standing near the entrance.

“Vitya,” he says firmly, and Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“The food fits into my plan, Yakov.”

“I’m not here about the food,” he says gruffly. They turn to walk towards the elevator. “You’re seeing someone in Detroit, yes?”

Viktor jabs at the call button impatiently. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, irritated. A family with children comes around the corner, holding brochures for the competition, and the little girl, probably around eight, tugs on her mother’s sleeve excitedly. When the woman looks down, the girl points at Viktor, who smiles and waves cheerfully.

“Hi!”

The girl says something quietly to her mother, who nods and pulls her over. The elevator dings behind Viktor, but he nods as the girl holds out her program and a sharpie, taking it gently. Flipping through the pages, he reaches his spread, and signs his name at the bottom with a flourish, finishing it off with a heart-mouthed smiley face. Handing it to the girl with a grin, Viktor gestures at the other programs with raised eyebrows, signing all of them happily as they’re offered. He hands them back, and after they get a picture with him, the family thanks him with short bows, walking back down the hallway. His face falls once they round the corner.

When Viktor turns around, Yakov’s already called the lift again, the doors sliding open shortly. Once they’re in the privacy of the elevator, Yakov speaks.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Vitya. You know how the last one went.”

“Yuuri isn’t Ivan,” he replies curtly, narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t say he was.” Yakov stares stoically at the doors.

Viktor lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yakov, I’m almost thirty. You don’t need to police my personal life anymore.”

“Someone has to look out for you, Vitya,” he says gruffly, “since you won’t let your parents do it.”

The doors open on Viktor’s floor, and he glares at Yakov after he exits. “That was a low blow and you know it,” he bites out as the doors close, turning on his heel to stalk down the hallway. He closes the hotel room door with a little more force than necessary, dropping his food on the table and his gear near the bed, before collapsing onto an armchair.

His phone dings cheerfully, and he debates ignoring it before grudgingly picking it up. Yuuri's sent a selfie, smiling sleepily at the camera in the café break room. Viktor texts back a picture of himself looking tired, and grins when he sees the message he gets in return.

 

**From: Yuuri <3  
<<<   i’m on my ten if you wanna chat. _(._.)_**

His finger’s on the call button before he has time to think, and it talks half a ring for the line to engage.

“Hey.” Yuuri's soft voice drifts across the phone, soothing some of the anger he feels toward Yakov.

“Hello, Yuuri.” Viktor sits up, moving toward the table. He can at least pretend to have company while he eats, if only at the beginning.

“People need to stop ordering frappes en masse at seven am.”

“Is it that sort of day?” Viktor asks around a bite of salmon.

“Apparently.” Yuuri sighs. The phone rustles slightly, before Viktor hears Yuuri drinking something. “I’m off the day after you get back,” he says when he finishes. “I was wondering if…well, I was thinking, I need to study but Phichit’s having friends over that day…so, maybe…”

“If you want to come study at my place, you can.”

 “I can bring food,” he says happily.

“Coffee?”

“Of course.” Viktor can hear the smile in Yuuri's voice through the exhaustion. He’d watched Viktor’s short program live, which means it’s been either a very early morning, or a very, _very_ late night. Knowing Yuuri, Viktor’s betting on the latter. He picks vegetables off of his rice with his chopsticks, eating them quickly. The adrenaline of competition has died down, leaving him weary and famished. A notification pops up on his phone, and he smiles as he accepts the change to a video call.

Yuuri grins when he comes onscreen, his hair flopping in front of his face as he sips whatever is in his cup. _It’s longer,_ Viktor realizes, _at least on the top._ He can’t say it’s a bad thing, the way Yuuri's eyes are framed by his bangs when his hair is loose. His cheeks are thinner as well, now that Viktor’s looking. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice it when he left, but there’s a barely-perceptible difference.

Not enough to be concerning, though.

Yuuri pulls off a chunk of his croissant, tossing it in his mouth deftly. “So one of my professors wants me to get them copies of some records while we’re in Hasetsu.”

“Are you going to?”

Shrugging, Yuuri replies, “I’m not sure. I told them I’d try if I had time, but the Sachiman authorities are strict about access to those archives. I’d take you with me, they have a lot of interesting books there, but there’s no way the University could get you a pass, not unless you were a student.”

“That’s alright,” Viktor says with a smile.

“I did find some interesting libraries and bookstores, though.” He finishes his croissant, wadding up the paper bag and tossing it off screen. A small fist pump lets Viktor know he made it into the trash can, and he grins.

“Nice shot.”

Yuuri blushes, smiling shyly. “Thanks.” He drinks more tea, shoving the corner of a textbook to the side as he leans on the table. “I found some restaurants we can try to go to, as well. Local cuisine. The sorts of places natives frequent, like you said you like.”

Viktor grins. He’s looking forward to the trip now more than ever before. He’s been doing research, of course, going through websites and destination lists, but it warms him to know Yuuri's been doing some of his own. In search of things for Viktor, no less.

“I look forward to it,” he says happily.

“Me too,” Yuuri responds. “My break’s over, now, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning? Your tomorrow, not mine.”

“That sounds nice, Yuuri.”

“I’ll send you my hours so you know when I’m off, if you decide you want to call. Talk later?”

Viktor nods. “I can’t wait.”

Yuuri signs off with a wave after that, Viktor’s phone buzzing moments later with a screenshot of the next day’s schedule.

He saves the picture before going back to his lukewarm food with a sigh.

 

~*~

 

Viktor looks worriedly around him, listening to the phone ring as he holds it up to his ear, early morning sun bright in his face. The line engages, and he speaks.

“Yuuri?”

“Yeah?” Yuuri’s voice is hesitant.

“Do you happen to speak Japanese? At all?” Viktor crosses his fingers and holds his breath after asking. There’s a long pause, soft breathing on the other end.

“I…yeah, I do,” is his response. Viktor sighs in relief. “A dialect, anyway, but I’ve studied Standard Japanese, too. Why?”

“I’m lost.” A barely-muffled snort comes across the line.

“You’re in Sapporo, right? Hokkaido?” Viktor nods before remembering Yuuri can’t see him.

“Yes.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need to get back to my hotel.” He hears another snort.

“Where are you?”

Viktor looks around. The signs are unintelligible to him, but he sees something recognizable. “There’s a Starbucks!” he almost shouts. He hears computer keys tapping.

“That’s……marginally helpful. Anything else you can recognize?”

He surveys the shops. There’s one that looks like it could be a bookstore, another that sells electronics, but there’s no way of knowing if they’re big brands. He wracks his brain for a solution.

 _Chris._ His mind supplies. The solution dawns on him. He holds his phone away from his ear, taking a few pictures before quickly sending them off to Yuuri.

“I sent street signs,” he says when the phone is back against his cheek. Chris had gotten lost in St. Petersburg at one point, and had taken pictures of everything as he walked while Viktor guided him back.

“Excellent,” Yuuri says. He hears more keystrokes and a few clicks of a mouse. His phone buzzes against his face.

“I’ve sent you directions and street names, you need to make sure the kanji match exactly,” he says. “I can stay on the phone for a little to make sure you get there ok.”

Half an hour later, Viktor’s hiding his face as he video calls Yuuri so he can actually see the signs himself.

“This is so embarrassing! I feel like an idiot,” he says, blushing.

“I still love you, though.”

It takes him a second to register what was said. When he looks back at the screen, the barest hint of black hair is in the corner.

“I can’t believe I just…” Yuuri whispers, voice tinged with embarrassment.

“Say it again?” Viktor’s voice is soft, hopeful.

Yuuri comes back into view, face a vivid scarlet. He stays silent though. Viktor’s eyes fall away from the screen as he struggles to hide the disappointment he feels. It was a figure of speech, nothing more.

“I love you,” Yuuri says quietly, almost disbelievingly.

Viktor’s head snaps up. “I love you, too, Lyubov,” he replies with a smile. Yuuri looks confused by the endearment but blushes just the same, his shoulders wiggling slightly as he does something on his computer.

The walk back to the hotel feels like floating, the snow gentle on Viktor’s glowing face.

 

~*~

 

When Viktor takes to the ice for Stammi Vicino that evening, he feels like he’s soaring before he even takes his opening position. The crowd greets him with cheers, boosting the airy feeling he has in his chest already, and he as he takes his pose, he flashes a smile at the nearest camera.

 _“I'm skating for you,”_ he thinks. _“Watch me, Beloved.”_

Out of the depths of his heart pour his love and affection, his body moving fluidly across the ice. He lets himself smile. The crowd roars somewhere in the distance with each successful jump, but all Viktor knows is that he feels light on his feet, weightless as he moves through his choreography.

_Stay with me._

_Stay by my side, and never leave._

He takes gold.

 

~*~

 

The moon is bright over Detroit as Viktor walks out of the airport, glancing down the line of cars. None of them are Yuuri's, so he sits on the cold metal bench to wait. His phone buzzes with notifications after he turns it on, and he flips through his Instagram idly. He yawns, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes as he drags a hand down his face. The night is cold, but his coat is thick and his scarf is bundled tightly around his neck.

It’s not long before Yuuri pulls up, lightly tapping his horn while he waves. Viktor smiles, hurrying over to the car while Yuuri comes around the back. Luggage is forgotten on the curb as Viktor pulls Yuuri into his arms, peppering his face with kisses while he giggles softly. Viktor lets himself melt into the embrace, resting his chin on Yuuri's shoulder.

“Welcome back, Vitya.” The nickname never fails to brighten Viktor’s spirits, not when Yuuri says it. He nuzzles the crook of Yuuri’s neck before kissing his cheek.

“It’s good to be back. How’s Makkachin?”

“See for yourself,” Yuuri says, laughing. He pulls open the back door and Makkachin takes a flying leap off the seat. Viktor catches him, barely, staggering backwards before lowering them both to the ground so he can scratch his ears. A pink tongue drags roughly across his face repeatedly as Makka greets him excitedly. His tail is wagging hard enough to make his butt wag with it, and Viktor pets him vigorously before letting go.

The back of the car slams closed, luggage stowed safely away, and Viktor stands. Makkachin jumps into the back seat when Yuuri calls him with a biscuit. Viktor closes the door and gets in himself, taking Yuuri's hand after he buckles his seatbelt.

“Take me home, Lyubov,” he mumbles quietly, before a yawn crawls out of his throat.

He’s met with a laugh. “Yes, My Liege.”

 

Jostling wakes him as Yuuri pulls into the parking space at Viktor’s apartment. He clips the leash to Makkachin, handing it to Viktor before grabbing the luggage. They make their way inside, slowly enough to let Makka take care of his business on the way. Yuuri waits in the living room after they get the luggage put away, while Viktor showers and gets into pajamas.

“There’s nothing like a hot shower after a long trip!” He says when he returns. He takes a seat on the couch. Yuuri grins at him cheerfully before his smile turns into a yawn. Smacking his lips, he rubs sleep out of his eyes.

“I’m so tired,” he says, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“Too tired to drive home?” Viktor asks, almost hopefully.

“No,” Yuuri says. Hearing Viktor’s disappointed sigh, he sits up and kisses the tip of his nose. “But I _could_ be.” He smiles, pulling out his phone and composing a quick text. “I’ll need to borrow pajamas.”

“That can be arranged.” Viktor grins and vanishes into his room, rummaging through his drawers to find something on the small side. He emerges a few minutes later, t-shirt and flannel pants in hand. Yuuri takes the proffered garments to the bathroom to change, walking back out after a bit.

“Do you happen to have an extra toothbrush?” He asks. Viktor’s old Russian Olympic Team t-shirt is draped nicely over his torso, his collarbones visible where the neck gapes open. The cuffs of Viktor’s pajama pants are rolled up, still dragging lightly on the floor as Yuuri rocks back and forth on his feet.

“Vitya?”

He blinks. “Um, yes, I do. Let me get it for you.” When he pulls one out of the cupboard under his sink, Yuuri takes it from him, smirking.

“Like what you see?” he whispers, inches from Viktor’s ear.

Clearing his throat, Viktor nods slowly. Cold fingertips turn Viktor’s head to face Yuuri, who brushes his lips across Viktor’s before kissing his cheek.

“Thank you for the toothbrush,” he says, grinning cheekily as he wiggles the item in question.

“It matches your glasses.”

Yuuri looks it over with interest, smiling happily. “It does! Did you plan it like that?”

Viktor nods, caught. “I did. You can put it in the cup when you’re done. So you have one here.”

Yuuri's face turns a bright red. He nods, beaming, before nudging Viktor with his hip. They brush their teeth in tandem, side by side in front of the mirror and it’s not for the first time Viktor wishes they spent every evening together. He wipes his mouth off as Yuuri leans up to kiss him.

“Mmm. Minty.” Yuuri smiles.

Viktor kisses him again. “You’re right.”

Yuuri blushes, kissing his chin. “You’ve got stubble.”

He rubs his neck, new hairs rough under his fingertips. “I’ll shave tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t be nuzzling up against me with your sandpaper chin, Vitya.”

Flinging his arms around Yuuri's waist from behind, Viktor rubs his cheek on the back of his shoulder. Yuuri laughs, squirming in Viktor’s grasp. “It tickles!” he says between breaths. Viktor only clings tighter, moving on to blowing raspberries as best he can against Yuuri's shoulder blade. Yuuri hunches over, pushing at Viktor’s arms weakly. “Vitya!” He finally manages to turn around, and Viktor catches his mouth in a kiss, arm tight around Yuuri's lower back, supporting him in a slight dip. He smiles, brushing a lock of hair out of Yuuri's eyes and tucking it behind his ear.

“You’re impossible,” Yuuri says fondly.

“Mmm is that so, Lyubov moya?”

Yuuri kisses his nose. “Absolutely incorrigible.”

 

They fall into bed together shortly thereafter, cuddling together under the blankets while Makkachin makes himself comfortable at the foot. The moon shines on Yuuri's face, throwing each eyelash into new definition.

“Vitya?” Yuuri asks softly.

Viktor raises his head slightly, looking at him. “What is it?”

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“The thing you call me,” Yuuri says around a yawn. “Leyouboo something.”

“Lyubov moya?”

“Yeah, that.”

Viktor smiles, kissing Yuuri gently. “My Beloved,” he says softly, and he hears a small gasp. Yuuri is smiling, his eyes are sparkling and he rests his head on the pillow as he looks up at Viktor. He looks almost ethereal, sleepy as he is, and as Viktor brushes Yuuri’s dark hair back, cupping his cheek, he wishes he could remember this moment forever. They snuggle in tired contentment, murmuring love and happiness to each other as they drift to sleep.

 

~*~

 

The next day had started happily with kisses in bed and pancakes, Yuuri only burning himself once and beaming with pride, but it quickly devolved. Yuuri rubs his arm nervously as he looks at Viktor.

“You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” It’s the third time today Yuuri's told Viktor he can back out of the trip if he wants. He closes his book with a snap.

“If you don’t want me there, Yuuri, just say so.”

“It’s…I’m just thinking, you have stuff to do, you know? And it’s just a stupid research trip, you’re probably going to get bored and hate it.” He’s practically gnawing the inside of his cheek, fingers playing with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Then I won’t go,” Viktor says curtly.

Yuuri flinches, retreating to the kitchen for tea, and then to the bedroom to study at Viktor’s desk.

 

Two hours later, Yuuri’s leaning against the doorjamb to the living room during a study break, staring at Viktor with a complicated expression on his face.

“I know you don’t get much time off, though, so if you wanted to go still I haven’t said anything to the university. You could shop or something while I do my research. There are museums. Bookstores.” His eyes glimmer dimly, the faintest flicker of hope in their depths. Viktor sighs.

“What answer are _you_ looking for, Yuuri? I say I’ll go, you try to convince me not to. When I finally say I won’t, you come back out with reasons I should! What do you _want_ me to do?” Viktor’s words slice through the air. Yuuri looks taken aback for a second, stunned into silence, before tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He drops his gaze to his hands, rolling the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. Viktor can hear him sniffling. He may have been too harsh, but Yuuri's been flip-flopping like this for days over text, constantly either implying that Viktor shouldn’t go, or practically begging him to be there. It had seemed like it would settle down for a bit, Viktor has constantly been hinting and even _saying_ that he’s been more than excited to go, but Yuuri apparently hasn’t picked up on his sincerity. He rubs the bridge of his nose and tries a gentler approach.

“Yuuri, if you don’t want me there, I’m not going to be mad or offended. You can just say so.” Yuuri chews on his lip. “But if you want me to go, I need you to tell me for sure, so I can figure out how I’m going to practice and make arrangements for Makka. You can’t just keep changing your mind like this, it’s not fair to me.”

He hears a hitched sob. Yuuri's crying now.

“Yuuri, please, look at me. Remember, this was my idea in the first place. Do you want me to go with you or not?”

He bites his lip, still faced away. “I-I mean, you have to train. It’s right after Russian Nationals, you’ll be getting ready for the European Championships, and I don’t know how long m-my research is going to take so I can’t just keep you there forever and-“ He stops as Viktor puts a hand on his cheek.

“Stop thinking about what’s good for me. Tell me what you _want_ and we’ll go from there.”

Yuuri's eyes meet his, uncertain. “It would be nice to have you there.” It’s the best answer Viktor’s going to get and he knows it.

“How about I plan to stay with you at the start, maybe just for two or three weeks, and we can figure out what needs to happen after that? It’ll be like a vacation! I haven’t had time off in too long.” He smiles cheerfully. “Is there a rink near the hotel?”

Yuuri swallows thickly. “I can check. I’ll…I’ll get back to you about that. I know there’s a rink in the city we’ll be in, I just…don’t know how far it is from where we’ll be staying.”

Viktor holds out his arms, pleased when he feels the press of Yuuri's body against him. He closes his eyes, sighing happily. “If there’s a rink nearby, and I can book time on it, I should be able to train remotely. I’ve been doing it with Yakov for months now already, so it really doesn’t matter where I am.”

“But you have Celestino _here._ I know he’s not _your_ coach, but he’s still a coach.”

“Yuuri I’ve been doing this for 20 years already. I’ll be fine. I know how to train, and Yakov’ll be analyzing video footage to give me pointers. A few weeks on my own isn’t going to hurt, and I’m spending time in Russia with him right before we leave.”

Yuuri nods. “You’re sure? You actually want to go?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to take a vacation with you?” He’s met with a shrug. Running his hand up and down Yuuri's back, he kisses the top of his head softly. “I’ve been excited to go with you since you said you were ok with it! The worst thing that’ll happen is I come back to Detroit early.”

Yuuri goes oddly still, before nodding and leaning closer.

“Yeah.”

 

~*~

 

“He’s definitely not the person I’d have chosen to represent us,” Viktor finishes ranting as JJ Leroy glides across the screen. He’s curled up on the couch with Yuuri, watching competition footage in preparation for the Final.

“Us?” Yuuri's eyes are glimmering as he pauses the video. “Are you Canadian?”

“I’m a Russian Citizen.”

“But are you Canadian?”

Viktor glances back at the image on the screen, JJ’s ridiculous pose frozen in high definition. He closes his eyes, sighing. “Yes. My mom is Québécoise.” It’s not his heritage he’s ashamed of, but in the world of figure skating, most people associate “Canadian” with “JJ Leroy” and “JJ Leroy” with “annoying show-off” and it’s made Viktor a little less forthright about things. Mostly because the only thing people in his social circles talk about when they find out is _JJ Leroy._

“I thought she was Russian,” Yuuri says, puzzled.

“That’s my other mom,” Viktor replies. “I was raised Russian, so it’s not like I _grew up_ in Canada, but still.”

“No wonder you hate JJ so much.” Yuuri's look is sympathetic.

Viktor nods. “I don't _hate him,_ he's a good kid, he’s just so…” He trails off, trying to find the word without resorting to insults.

“Obnoxious,” Yuuri finishes.

Viktor nods emphatically. “Maman’s been hoping I was assigned to Skate Canada with him, specifically, so I could make her proud. It doesn’t matter to her that I skate under the Russian flag. Winning against a ‘fellow Canadian’, and on Canadian soil no less…” His smile is fond, but steadily turns to plastic. He still hasn’t contacted them, despite getting another congratulations text, and the guilt’s starting to eat away at him.

Yuuri frowns, running his thumb along Viktor’s lips. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You look sad.”

 _Sad?_ That wasn’t right. Viktor is smiling, he’s making sure of it. His mask is solid, impenetrable. The concern in Yuuri's eyes says otherwise, though. Yuuri's fingers are wet against Viktor’s skin, and he’s confused for a second. When another warm tear slides down Viktor’s face, he figures it out.

He misses his family. He genuinely, truly misses them and it _hurts._

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yuuri's forehead rests against Viktor’s now, breath ghosting across Viktor’s lips.

“I don’t know.” Viktor bites his lip, closing his eyes. The sadness refuses to be willed away, the lump in his throat growing, suffocating him. He feels arms wrap around his torso and lips on his cheek before Yuuri pulls him into a firm hug.

When he opens his eyes, his vision is blurred by tears. He pulls away from Yuuri, wiping his face with his sleeve roughly. Taking an offered tissue, he blows his nose.

“It’s been a year since I've contacted my family.”

Yuuri’s face jerks up. He sits back on his heels.

“We’re not even on bad terms, I just…I plan to, and then I forget. Then I feel guilty for forgetting, so I put it off…” He combs his hair out of his face with his fingers. “I can’t seem to break the cycle.”

“Just do it.”

Viktor looks at Yuuri in disbelief. Yuuri, who struggles with anxiety, just telling Viktor to _do something_ like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like there’s not a voice in the back of Viktor’s mind, constantly reminding him that all the gold medals in the world won’t make him a decent son and brother, shackling him with guilt when he tries to fight it.

Yuuri pales when he realizes how it came across. “I-I don’t mean it like that! When I have anxiety about something like that, sometimes… Sometimes it’s easiest to do the thing right when I have the urge to, before giving myself time to question myself.” Yuuri rubs the back of his head, gesturing with his free hand. “It’s obviously not good for everything, but it helps with things that need to get done. Stuff like chores and sending emails you’ve been dreading and taking a shower.”

It actually makes sense when he puts it that way.

 

~*~

 

Lying in bed late that night, Viktor opens the group message with his moms again. Biting his lip, he stares at the line blinking ominously on screen. He’s composed and erased several messages, each worse than the one before, when a bubble with three blinking dots pops up in the bottom.

His heart leaps into his throat and he freezes, waiting. They must have seen him typing. It feels like forever those dots flash at him accusingly, before a message pops up.

 

 **From: Maman**  
**< <<   We love you, Vitka! Always and forever. <#**  
** <<<   * <3**

 

Tears start running down his face. It’s been so long, so incredibly long since he’s heard their voices. His finger hovers over the phone icon. Yuuri’s words float back into his mind, and he doesn’t allow himself to hesitate before pressing call.

The phone rings once, twice before a woman’s voice comes on the other end.

“Vitka?” He hears apprehension and disbelief, and how could he do this to his own mothers, that they can barely believe their own son is contacting them?

“Vitka, is something wrong?” He hears a low murmur in the background and _god_ they think something’s _wrong_ just because he called and what sort of son _is_ he?

“No, Maman, nothing's wrong. I just…I missed…” It’s hard to talk around the lump in his throat. He takes a deep breath.

“Oh, Vitka, we miss you, too.” He hears another murmur, louder this time, before his other mom picks up the other line.

“Vitya, how is Detroit?”

“It’s wonderful, Mamulya. I met a boy,” he says happily, his voice catching in his throat.

“A boy? Is he anything like the last one?” Her tone is wary, her mind undoubtedly on the weeks Viktor had spent sulking around the house after the nasty break-up with his first boyfriend.

“No, nothing like Ivan. He’s sweet and thoughtful and fun, and he loves Makkachin, and he makes the most incredible coffee, Mamulya.”

“Is this the one from your Instagram?” He smiles. He’d forgotten they follow him.

“He is.”

He hears shuffling on the end of the line, and then his Maman’s voice.

“You sound happier.”

“Do I really?” It’s one thing to hear from his rinkmates, another to hear from his mother.

“You do, darling Vitya.” He can hear the smile in her voice.

“He doesn’t care who I am, Maman. He doesn’t care about the medals. He sees _me,_ not the Legend. He brings me coffee after practice, and I take food to his work so he has company on his lunch break.”

“That sounds absolutely lovely.” A door closes in the background, a man’s voice speaking rapidly before there’s a sudden pause in conversation. The phone is handled again, before a new voice comes on the line.

“Vitya, is that you?”

Viktor almost laughs. Alexei sounds so eager and he’s missed _him,_ too. He’s missed all of them.

“It’s me, Lyosha.”

“Something happen? You can tell your big brother.”

“I think being born twenty minutes before me hardly qualifies you as my big brother.”

“I’m still older. Everyone has to be a winner at something,” he says jokingly. “You have your medals, I have my twenty minutes.” Viktor laughs. Alexei’s surprisingly good about being the identical twin of Russia’s National Hero. He’s never once made Viktor feel bad about his status, even when the paparazzi mistakenly hound him instead. Which has happened more often than the press likes to admit.

“How is Detroit?” There’s a soft click as the other line disengages. The background is quieter, now, as well. Lyosha must have stolen the phone.

“It’s nice,” Viktor says sleepily.

“How is Makkachin?”

“He’s happy.”

“And you?” Alexei’s tone turns serious. “We’ve been worried, Vitka.”

“I’m doing well, too. I met someone, Lyoshen’ka.”

“Is he cute?”

Viktor chuckles. “He’s gorgeous and he has so much love to give. He makes me so happy, Lyosha,” he says and it’s true. He’s genuinely smiled more in the months knowing Yuuri than he had in the years before.

“He’s not weird? About the skating?”

“He pretended he had no idea I was a figure skater for months so I’d feel normal.” Viktor rolls over, laying on his back and stroking Makkachin’s fur idly. “He’s…surprisingly conscious about…everything. Not in a bad way, though? We eat in a lot, because he knows I get recognized, and it’s not like he doesn’t _talk_ about my career but it’s never that sort of…”

“Voyeuristic self-serving fascination?”

“Yeah.” Alexei’s always been incredibly concise with his words. Viktor yawns, now. It’s deep, and seems to shake his entire body. His brother laughs on the other end of the line.

“It’s what, two am there?” Viktor hums in agreement. “Vitka, go to sleep.”

“Is Katya there?”

“Not at the moment, no. She’s at school.”

Viktor pulls his covers further up his bare chest, making a noise of displeasure as he does.

“Vitka, we’ll still be here when you feel up to calling again.” Alexei’s always known how to talk to Viktor, how to reassure him, even during the dark days of their adolescence. “I’ll tell our little sister you say hi and that you love her.”

“I should say good night to our moms.” There’s an amused sigh on the other end, and then shuffling. A door opens and closes, and he hears women’s voices. Rustling comes over the line, and finally his brother’s voice again.

“You’re on speakerphone, Vitka. Say goodnight so you can go to bed.”

“But I wanna talk.” His lips feel clumsy, even speaking his native Russian, and he yawns again.

His maman laughs softly. “Vitya, sleep is good for you. We’ll always be here, you can always call us.”

“It is true,” Mamulya says gently. “We love hearing from you.”

He sighs. Saying goodbye hurts, because there’s still so much to tell them, but he can barely keep his eyes open and he has to be at the rink early the next day. He’s drifting off by the time his family reminds him again they love him, voices earnest and full of kindness. When he hangs up, there’s a smile on his face and he lets out a contented sigh as he snuggles closer to Makkachin.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Yuuri greets him with a smile.

“What can I get for you today?”

Viktor grins, “A kiss from the Birthday Boy?”

Yuuri blushes, glancing around the café, before leaning across the counter for a quick peck on the lips.

“S dnem rozhdeniya, Lyubov moya,” Viktor says, “Happy Birthday.”

“Spasibo,” is the bashful reply. “Now what can I get started for you?”

“Can I get a Raf?”

Yuuri nods. In short order the coffee is ready, and Viktor sits at the counter in his usual spot as he drinks. Terrycloth squeaks against metal as Yuuri wipes down the espresso machine.

“I talked to my family,” Viktor says suddenly, into the relative quiet of the café.

“Did you? How’d it go?” Yuuri asks curiously.

“It went pretty well. Talked to my moms and my brother, my sister was in school.” He smiles as he remembers, fondness pulling his mouth into a smile.

“Are they doing alright?”

“They are! I was happy to talk with them.”

Glancing at the clock, Yuuri sighs. “Want one to go?”

Viktor looks, and he has about 10 minutes to get to the rink.

“Sure,” he replies. “Why don’t you make one for Phichit, too?”

“I’ll make one for him and Celestino, and you can play delivery boy,” Yuuri says, smiling. When he holds out the tray of drinks, Viktor takes them carefully.

“Don’t forget, Phichit and I’ll meet you here with Makka so we can go to your place and order food, or whatever it is we’re doing.” The party’s tonight, and Viktor still hasn’t figured something out for Yuuri's present. Yuuri gives a shy smile before moving to answer someone’s question, and Viktor leaves for the rink.

 

“I don’t know what to buy him,” Viktor says as he skates up to Phichit with their drinks. He hands over the coffee, and leans against the boards as he pouts.

“Are you talking about your dog or Yuuri?” Phichit’s grinning into his coffee as he takes a sip, looking at Viktor with sparkling eyes.

“In this case, Yuuri,” Viktor responds. He runs a gloved hand through his hair. “I’ve tried figuring out what he wants, but I don’t want to buy him coffee, he has enough of that at work. I’d get him a video game, but I don’t know which ones he has for his Xbox already.”

“Playstation.”

“Same thing,” Viktor says, because it may as well be.

“He has a Wii U, too. And a 3DS, both of which are obviously backwards-compatible to an extent.”

The exasperated look on Viktor’s face makes Phichit shut his mouth.

“Have you thought of tea?” Phichit asks as he spins in slow circles.

“He has so much tea already.”

“He goes through it really quickly, trust me.”

That much should have been obvious to Viktor, now that he thinks about it. Yuuri uses _making_ tea for stress relief as much as _drinking_ it, and it’s not uncommon to find several forgotten mugs laying around the house when Yuuri leaves.

“But what kind of tea?” Phichit stops spinning, putting his free hand on his hip.

“Almost anything, really. He tends to avoid fruity teas unless he’s in a mood, but he’ll appreciate almost anything. Unless it smells like alfalfa,” he says as he frowns. “There are teas out there that do, and every time he gets one he starts talking about doing 4-H.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Viktor chuckles.

“Seriously, though? Just get something you think he’d like, either a favorite tea of your own, or just one that smells nice.” Phichit smirks. “He’ll like it if it’s from you.”

 

He doesn’t have time to run to a tea shop before Yuuri's driving them to the apartment, and Phichit already makes him drive them to a store to pick up his cake and candles. They get up to the apartment without issue, Yuuri playfully averting his eyes so he doesn’t see the cake before it’s in front of him with candles, per Phichit’s orders. Viktor orders food, Phichit makes everyone tea, and after they eat, Yuuri blows his 23 candles out with a single breath. They clap, and Viktor introduces him to the great Russian tradition of ear-pulling, leaving the tips of Yuuri's ears (and his cheeks) a bright red. Viktor kisses his nose, and Yuuri's eyes shimmer.

 

Viktor’s holding the plastic controller, fiddling with too many buttons and joysticks and essentially just smashing his fingers in random places as Mario jumps and fireballs his way across the screen. Yuuri and Phichit are fighting each other, high on a ledge above, and Viktor struggles to make Mario fit in the small passageway to the upper level without coming dangerously close to falling off the map. Yuuri and Phichit are waging battle in the temple area, furious spins and brutal attacks alternating with going at each other using cartoon items that fall from the sky.

A blonde kid in an elf costume flies towards the camera, landing against the screen as Yuuri cheers.

“We’ll see how the next round goes, Princess,” Phichit says. “Don’t think just because you’re good at Zelda means you’re always going to win.”

Yuuri sticks his tongue out, his character moving rhythmically in place. Viktor finally gets Mario on the main level, and makes his way in Yuuri's direction. Chancing a glance at the others, he smiles as he sees Yuuri and Phichit heavily involved in an argument about character stats and abilities. Onscreen, Mario moves towards Princess Zelda, and Viktor quickly figures out that you can shift people if you keep walking towards them. He grins. Moving his joystick to the left, Viktor quickly moves Mario to push Princess Zelda further and further, until the announcer’s voice booms from the speakers.

“K-O!!! Winner: Mario!!”

Yuuri and Phichit both gape at the screen while Viktor beams widely.

“What the _fuck?”_ Yuuri mutters quietly while Phichit rapidly looks between Viktor and the T.V. before howling with laughter.

“You- he- he just…” Phichit clutches his side as he dissolves into giggles again.

“I didn’t hear you hitting me.” Yuuri says, still in shock.

“He pushed you off the ledge, you nerd,” Phichit says, throwing an arm around Yuuri. “You only had one life left. You should’ve paused it if you’d wanted to win. Or beaten your boyfriend before arguing with me.” Yuuri blushes furiously and stares at his controller like he’s debating throwing it at his roommate. He settles for smacking Phichit with a nearby pillow and crawling onto the far end of the couch.

“Well played,” he says to Viktor with a smile on his lips.

“Happy Birthday, Lyubov moya.” Viktor responds, leaning over, eyes closed, for a kiss. His mouth connects with fabric, and he opens his eyes to see one of the couch’s decorative pillows an inch from his face. Backing off, he pouts while Yuuri lowers the pillow just enough to meet his eyes over the top.

“No, you’re rude. You ignored the rules of combat. This is _war,_ Vitya.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Viktor replies with a grin. He pulls the pillow down farther, exposing Yuuri's lips, and leans forward with the most sappy puppy-dog look he can manage. “Yuuuuuuri,” he drawls playfully when Yuuri makes a face. He knows Yuuri's weak for puppy-dog eyes and he keeps it up until Yuuri blushes, rolling his eyes, before giving Viktor a quick peck on the nose and a playful shove.

Both of them notice buzzing as Phichit holds up Yuuri's phone.

Yuuri groans, “reject the call, would you?”

Phichit looks at the phone, finger held over the reject button. “It’s…Yuuri, it’s your _sister,”_ he says quietly.

Yuuri moves to get off the couch, looking at Viktor. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

“Didn’t your family call earlier?” Viktor asks curiously.

Shrugging, Yuuri stands as he takes the phone. “My sister calls separately.”

He looks down at the buzzing device in his hand before sighing and swiping his thumb across the screen. “I’ll be out in a sec,” he says, before putting the phone to his ear and walking down the hall.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Viktor’s sitting at the coffee table with Phichit, grinning smugly as he puts the last cards in his hand down in front of him.

“I’m out,” he says, “and with 515 points this game goes to me.”

Phichit drops his cards on the table. “How do you even learn to _play_ this game?”

Viktor shrugs. “The same way you get good at video games, I imagine. Play it, suck, keep playing it, and then you get better and eventually beat your coach so badly he vows never to play with you again.”

“That sounds like there’s a story connected to it.”

Viktor grins. “There is. He technically hit five hundred first! _Negative_ five hundred.”

Phichit winces. “No wonder. Makes a mere 175 sound not-as-bad.”

Excusing himself to go to the bathroom, Viktor heads down the bare halls. The walls have post-it notes on them, similarly to the kitchen, but they’re mostly inconsequential reminders about using the thermostat and such. One bedroom door at the end of the hall is cracked open, the sounds of a metal wheel squeaking loud in the night. The other is closed tightly, likely Yuuri's.

His business taken care of, he stands outside Yuuri's bedroom door, fist raised to knock. Yuuri's speaking to someone, in what sounds like Japanese. It’s not a form Viktor’s heard before. Yuuri _had_ said he’d studied standard Japanese, which means…this must be the dialect he’d grown up speaking. The cadence and intonation are different, but it flows out of Yuuri's mouth like water just the same. Viktor’s about to back away when Yuuri's voice catches in his throat. He listens as his voice grows thicker, before going completely quiet.

A hand on his shoulder startles him. Phichit puts his fingers over his lips when Viktor turns, gesturing for him to follow him down the hallway. They make it to the kitchen before Phichit speaks.

“He’ll be done soon.”

“I’ve always gotten the impression he’s not on decent terms with any of his family. He’s always stressed when he’s done spending time with his sister.”

Phichit frowns for a second. “His relationship with her, and his family in general, is complicated. He doesn’t really talk about them much, to be honest.”

That’s something Viktor’s not unfamiliar with. He nods to Phichit. “Should I wait to say goodbye, or should I just…go?”

Phichit shrugs. “He’ll probably be out in a couple of minutes, if you want to stick around.”

Sure enough, Yuuri shuffles out of his room a few minutes later. He smiles when he sees Viktor, gravitating over. His eyes are red and puffy, and he wraps his arms around him. Viktor runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, kissing the top of his head.

“Everything alright, Lyubov?”

Yuuri's breath hitches in his throat, but he nods. “I just miss my family.”

Kissing his forehead, Viktor pulls him closer. “I could pay travel expenses for you to go see them. It can be part of your birthday present!”

He pulls back in time to see Yuuri's eyes drop to the floor, his face twist into a pained expression before fading into melancholy. “I appreciate it,” he says flatly, “but that’s not necessary. We’re…currently discussing possible arrangements for a visit in the near future.” His lips brush Viktor’s neck before he buries his face in his shoulder. “I’ll be ok, Vitya. Thank you, though.”

“You’ll be going home soon?” Phichit’s voice is soft, but there’s an unusual weight to the question.

Yuuri nods, turning his head to rest his cheek against Viktor. “Yeah. I will.” He sounds resigned.

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” Viktor says gently.

Yuuri stiffens, pulling back, and something dark crosses his expression. “It’s complicated, Vitya.”

 

When Viktor gets home that night, after taking Makkachin out, he sends a few final texts to Yuuri.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
** >>>   Happy Birthday, Любовь моя!**  
** >>>   Sweet dreams, I’ll see you soon! ( ´ ♡ ` ). ｡ｏ ♡**  
** >>>   Good Night!! ( ∪ ｡ ∪) ｡｡｡zzZ **

He doesn’t receive a response.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fighting and free, **got your world in my hand**  
>  I’m here for your love and I’ll make my stand_  
> \- Queen, Princes of the Universe
> 
> I know I usually post in the afternoon but I've been so excited to post this chapter!! The story's finally starting to pick up!!
> 
> Chapter count reduced form 19 to 17 because I ended up combining chapters. Twice. So there's that. ^_^
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed reading, and thanks for sticking with me so far!!!! 
> 
> Beta'd, as usual, by the lovely Isis Nocturne.  
>  
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  ขอขอบคุณ (K̄hx k̄hxbkhuṇ) = “Thank you” in Thai  
> давай, виктор (davai, viktor!) = “go, viktor!” in Russia  
> Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> Maman = “Mom” in French  
> Мамуля (Mamulya) = “Mom” in Russian  
> С днем рождния (S dnem rozhdeniya) = “Happy Birthday” in Russian  
> Спасибо (spasibo) = “Thank you” in Russian
> 
>  **Video game:** Super Sm4sh Brothers on the Wii U. Yes, they’re playing on [Hyrule Temple.](%E2%80%9D)
> 
>  **Card game:** Rummy 500, a.k.a. 500 Rum is a card game, where players play a series of rounds until one hits 500 points and wins. Points are calculated by cards played (different cards have different values), subtracting the total of what’s left in your hand (for the player that doesn’t go out/play all their cards first). It’s very much possible to go into the negatives, though I’ve never played a game as bad as the one Yakov played with Viktor! For more information, you can find the rules [ here. ](%E2%80%9D) (This is a separate game from regular Rummy/Rum or Gin Rummy, with slightly different rules.)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**


	5. Held In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor finds a new love for storage closets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [I Wanna Be Yours by the Arctic Monkeys.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaiLCYgWk3E)

“Yuuri, I love you. I love everything _about_ you, I’m not going to be upset that you’re so anxious about this trip.”

Somehow, it’s the wrong thing to say. Yuuri’s hiccups turn into full-blown sobs. Tears and snot run down his face, hurriedly wiped off with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Viktor’s at a loss. If this were a typical anxiety attack, he’d have some idea what to do, but something is _wrong._ Everything he says, normally things that help, or at least don’t _do_ anything, seem to make the situation _worse._ The upcoming trip is impacting Yuuri more than he is letting on, and for the life of him Viktor can’t understand _why._ Travel and hotel expenses are already paid, their passports are in order, additional paperwork finished and mostly approved, and Yuuri has a clear idea of the information he needs for his thesis, as well as where to find it. They don’t even need to worry about Makkachin’s care since he’ll be with Phichit. Nothing Viktor can think of offers any explanation for this, and the only logical conclusion he can come up with is just… stress.

But knowing it’s just stress isn’t helping him calm Yuuri at all. Hurt wells in his chest as Yuuri struggles to pull himself together, sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

“Yuuri,” he says quietly, on the verge of tears himself, “Yuuri, Lyubov moya, what can I do? How can I help?”

Yuuri just shakes his head, shoulders trembling forcefully.

“Ph-Phichit. Please,” he chokes out. “He...text him?”

Viktor nods. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, keeping his arms wrapped around Yuuri as he texts his rinkmate. Phichit’s over in short order, pulling Yuuri into the bedroom with him after offering apologies to Viktor. With nothing left to do but worry, Viktor paces laps around the living room, Makkachin at his heels.

 

It’s been over an hour when Phichit emerges from the bedroom. Viktor looks over from the couch and jumps to his feet when he sees him, tripping as he rushes over for news.

“He’ll be ok,” Phichit says softly before Viktor can ask. “It’s not something he can really…it’s hard for him to talk about. Nothing you did, though, just…nerves. Because of the trip. And his paper. And stuff.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?”

Phichit glances back at the bedroom, biting his lip as he sighs. “He’s got a lot on his mind right now. I’m not really comfortable speaking for him, though, so…”

Viktor nods in understanding.

“Let him tell you everything when he’s ready, yeah?” Phichit crosses his arms, concern evident in his voice.

“I will.”

Yuuri comes into the hallway then, eyes swollen and the tip of his nose an angry red. His feet shuffle under the blanket he has wrapped around himself, as he makes his way towards the kitchen.

“Do you want me to make you tea?” Viktor asks, almost eagerly. It sounds jarring next to Yuuri’s quiet footsteps and the occasional sniffle.

“I’ll be ok, thanks.” He walks slowly past Phichit and Viktor.

“I don’t mind,” Viktor says.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri responds quietly as he sets the water to boil. Viktor walks into the kitchen and grabs Yuuri’s favorite mug, setting it down near the kettle. Yuuri looks up at him quickly, face shadowed. When Viktor reaches for the tea, he snaps.

“I _don’t_ need you to take _care_ of me,” he says as he snatches the tin out from in front of Viktor.

Viktor pulls his hand back, wounded. “It’s not like you’re telling me what you _do_ need!” Phichit moves forward at that point, both hands raised. Yuuri shoots him a severe look, and he gingerly folds his arms in front of his chest. “How am I supposed to know what to do when you won’t _tell me how to help?!”_ Viktor’s almost shouting, but it doesn’t matter. These last few weeks, tiptoeing around Yuuri’s ever-increasing anxiety while trying to focus on training and dealing with his _own_ issues have taken their toll, and his nerves are frayed and ready to snap. Yuuri’s eyes meet Viktor’s and he looks _guilty._

“I’m just stressed. I’m fine.” He looks down as he measures tea leaves into a bob and drops it in his cup.

 _“Clearly_ you’re not.”

“Regardless of whether or not I _am,_ I _clearly_ don’t want to talk about it!”

Viktor opens his mouth for a retort, but can’t find the words. Yuuri’s tone leaves no room to argue, finality echoing in the last statement. He scowls, keeping his eyes firmly on the kettle as the water comes to a boil.

Viktor looks at Phichit. Phichit holds his hands up in a blatant don’t-get-me-involved gesture, and Viktor sighs.

“Should I just kiss you or something?”

Utensils and dishes rattle as Yuuri slams his hands down on the counter.

“No, Viktor! No! That’s not what I – “ he throws up his hands, exasperated. His eyes start shining, tears collecting in the corners, before he marches into the living room. He pulls his coat on roughly, buttoning it halfway before putting his scarf on. The rest of the buttons are done up, securing the scarf ends, and Yuuri pulls his beanie roughly onto his head before grabbing his bag and marching over to the door.

Viktor goes to protest as he pulls his shoes on, but stops when Yuuri snaps his hand up. “I’m going for a walk,” he says curtly. He finishes tying his shoelaces, standing up and straightening out his jacket. In a flash he’s gone with a burst of cold air, leaving Phichit and Viktor stunned in his wake.

“That...could have gone better.” Phichit’s voice breaks through the silence.

“What did I do?” Viktor’s surprised at how distraught he sounds.

“Aside from asking to kiss him?” Viktor nods. “Nothing,” Phichit says. “You might have pushed the whole helping-out thing a bit too much, but…I can promise you, you’re not the main source of Yuuri's stress. He has a lot going on. This research paper could make or break his academic career.”

“There’s more than just the paper, Phichit. I’m not an idiot.” His tone is harsher than he’d anticipated, almost accusatory.

Phichit’s eyes narrow, glinting in the light. “I won’t speak for him. I’ve said all I’m comfortable saying. I’m going to go find him before he freezes to death. _You_ stay here. I’ll text with updates.” He, too, bundles up before heading out, the door slamming shut behind him. Viktor slumps over on the couch. Makkachin makes his way over, cold nose nudging Viktor’s hand until he moves it to scratch behind his ears.

Five long minutes later he gets a text saying Phichit’s with Yuuri.

Fifteen minutes after that, he gets another informing him that Yuuri's staying at his own apartment for the night, and probably the next couple of days. To “de-stress”, apparently. There are no further texts for the rest of the night, and Viktor wakes the next morning sore and badly rested. It’s a rest day, so he spends it at home absorbed in any book he can find that’ll hold his attention for more than ten minutes. He debates messaging Phichit, deciding against it when he remembers how angry he’d been. He makes another cup of tea, and slouches in his chair with a pile of books as he tries to pass the time. Walking Makka provides some distraction, but not enough to stop him from seeing Yuuri's stricken face every time he closes his eyes. That evening, after no updates, he finally gives into the temptation to text Yuuri. Yuuri doesn’t answer, even after Viktor’s sent several, but the reason becomes clear when Viktor tries calling him, only to hear a muffled ringtone from the couch cushions. He pulls up his messages with Phichit.

 

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I messed up.**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   yea kinda. but i was being serious when i said most of it isn’t you.**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Still, I want to apologize. Can I come over?**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   uhhh we aren’t home right now.**  
**< <<   yuuri wanted to get out of the house so i took him to a party?**  
**< <<   but if you’re serious i can give you the address. he’s not drunk.**  
**< <<   yet.**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Please?**

 

The text comes in a few minutes later, as Viktor’s pulling on his boots near the front door. He calls an Uber while he makes his way to the street. The ride over is uneventful, and the house they stop in front of is the only one on the block with its lights blazing and a crowd of people outside, so he assumes he’s at the right place. Getting out of the car, he slides the driver a twenty before heading into the throng of people.

It doesn’t take long to spot Phichit in the crowd indoors, staring at something going on in the next room. He rounds the corner, refusing several plastic cups held in his direction, and makes his way over. When he pushes through the crowd gathered near Phichit, it becomes clear what’s drawn everyone’s attention.

Yuuri's spinning languidly halfway up a metal pole, his glorious thighs on full display as he dances. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned shirt is draped across his torso. Aside from his socks, the only other clothing on his body is his boxer-briefs. He does a Superman, then swings himself around the pole with a flourish. When he finally stops going in circles, his eyes meet Viktor’s and his face lights up. He grins happily, shifting his hand to wave, before promptly sliding down the pole and landing in a heap on the ground.

He’s not on the floor for long. Jumping to his feet enthusiastically, he shouts, “Vitya!!! Did you see me?! I did great, _right?!?!”_ Viktor feels his face grow hot as he nods. He clears his throat as Yuuri's soft hands grab his, long fingers wrapping around Viktor’s like they were made to be there. Moving energetically to the music, Yuuri leads Viktor into the next room. They spin across the floor, Yuuri pulling Viktor in every direction, but after the third song comes to an end Viktor’s tired. He raises his hands in surrender, laughing.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Nikiforov?” Yuuri slurs indignantly.

“Nothing,” Viktor says, chuckling as he pushes Yuuri towards Phichit. “I’m just happy you’re having fun. Let’s go see Phichit, yes?” Yuuri mumbles something incoherent.

They finally reach their target. Yuuri, suddenly ecstatic, throws himself on Viktor. Phichit grimaces. Yuuri frowns. “Vitya. Vitya, I have to pee.” He’s still slurring his words, and when Viktor nods, he pokes his chest before staggering off to the bathroom.

After Yuuri disappears into the throng of people, Phichit shifts closer. “When I messaged you, he was only a beer and a half in. I thought he’d be relatively sober when you got here.”

“How is he?” Viktor asks, concerned.

Phichit takes a long sip of whatever is in his cup before he responds. “He’s doing ok.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. First Yuuri stalks out of the apartment in the middle of the Detroit winter, and now he’s three sheets to the wind and apparently going for a fourth. He’d hate to hear what counts as doing badly.

“Or, he will be,” Phichit continues. “Especially after you guys have sorted it out.”

Viktor nods. “Before I forget,” he says, pulling Yuuri's phone out of his coat, “he left that at my place.”

“I’ll make sure it gets back to him,” Phichit says as he pockets it.

Yuuri staggers back into the room, stumbling on the carpet before collapsing onto Viktor. His body shakes as he lets out a giggle. “Vitya!” He wraps his arms around Viktor’s waist and gazes him with such affection Viktor’s heart threatens to burst.

He smiles softly. “He’s a regular Prince Charming.”

Yuuri, apparently a romantic at heart, seems to latch onto the idea. “I’m your Prince Charming?!” Viktor nods shyly, and it only brightens the smile on Yuuri's face. “You should be _my_ Prince Charming, Vitya!!” Viktor feels Yuuri's hips gyrating against his thigh as he’s pulled closer. “And I’ll be _your_ s _any day of the week,”_ he says before his face contorts into a grimace. He’s more drunk than Viktor’d realized (and that’s saying something) but nevertheless, he continues, determined. “I’ll do i-“

Phichit pulls him away just as he looks like he’s about to puke on Viktor’s shoes. “All right, Big Boy, time to go home!” Yuuri makes vague noises of protest as he’s turned towards the door. Phichit looks apologetically at Viktor, mouthing “sorry” as someone hands him Yuuri's pants. He mimes gagging while pointing at Yuuri, before gesturing that he’ll text later. Viktor nods his head, waving as they leave.

With nothing else to do, Viktor leaves out the back, making his way to his apartment. The night air is cold against his face as he walks, stinging his still-pink cheeks. The walk is fairly short, Makkachin _very_ happy to see him, and he plays the night over in his head on repeat while he gets ready to sleep.

 

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   He can pole dance.**  
**> >>   He has background in ballet.**  
**> >>   His body makes the sweetest music, Chris.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   You hold onto that man, mon chere.**  
**< <<   Literally and figuratively.**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   He asked me to be his prince.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Mon dieu, Vitya.**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   It’s just…**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Oh?**  
**< <<   What’s the problem?**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   We’re fighting right now. Or at least I think we are?**  
**> >>   He stormed out of the apartment yesterday.**  
**> >>   But at the party he was more than friendly.**  
**> >>   I went to apologize, and expected him to be upset.**  
**> >>   But he pulled me into a dance.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   That’s odd.**  
**< <<   Have you talked to him yet?**

 **To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   No.**

 **From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Vitya.**

 

He sighs, looking at his phone. Determinedly placing it face-down on his nightstand after plugging it in, he rolls to face away from it. Makkachin shifts, sleepily looking up at Viktor before plodding over slowly and flopping down next to him, letting Viktor run his fingers through his hair until he falls asleep.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, he wakes up to an apologetic text from Yuuri. At least that’s what it looks like. He’s not entirely sure what was typed can pass for anything found in the English language, but the letters s, o, and r appear repeatedly in close proximity to each other, so it’s good enough. He sends a picture of Makkachin with a heart drawn on it. It takes a while before he gets a response in the form of a picture of one of the café cups, taken in the break room, followed shortly by a text.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   sorry about freaking out. life is stressful atm.**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I could have handled things better, too.**  
**> >>   I just don’t know what to do in that sort of situation.**  
**> >>   I don’t know how to help, and when I tried it only made things worse.**  
**> >>   I’m very bad with people when they’re upset.**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   just…i need you to have faith in me.**  
**< <<   just believe in me, even when i don’t believe in myself.**  
**< <<   i need to know you’re on my side**  
**< <<   even when it seems like the world’s against me**  
**< <<   just stay close to me.**  
**< <<   that’s all.**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Of course, Любовь  **  
**> >>   But what do I do when you’re upset like that?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i guess, just let me do my thing.**  
**< <<   offering help once is fine, but if i say no, don’t push it**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’ll do my best. (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ (ˆ⌣ˆc)♡**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   (ɔˆ ³(ღ˘⌣˘ღ) ♡**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Who’s doing the kissing?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   we can switch off. ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡**

 

 _Wow. Ok._ A flush crawls over Viktor’s face and he hates the fact they had their first fight right before he has to leave the country. He wants to apologize properly, not over a rushed text conversation while he throws the last of his things in a bag.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’m getting ready to head to Sochi.**  
**> >>   I’ll be in to see you before I go.**  
**> >>   See you soon!! ε===(っ≧ω≦)っ**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   ttys!**

 

The Daily Grind is thankfully empty as Viktor stops in on his way to the airport.

Yuuri's looking pretty rough after the night he’d had. His hair and clothes are fine, as usual, but the bags under his eyes stand out in stark relief against his skin, and when he’s not dealing with a customer, he’s squinting and rubbing his head. When Viktor approaches the counter, he gets a pained smile. After he orders, Yuuri looks at him nervously. “Uh, I need to talk to you about arrangements for Makkachin while you’re gone.”

Viktor’s stomach plummets. “Yuuri, my flight to Sochi leaves in four hours, I don’t have time to—”

“It’s not bad!  Don’t worry,” Yuuri says quickly. Viktor nearly clutches his chest, trying to control his breathing. Making new arrangements at such short notice would have been nearly impossible.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.  Something came up, though, and I have to leave town for a few days while you're in Russia.” He runs his hand through his hair, letting it fall in his face. “I just needed to know if you were alright with Phichit watching Makka while I was gone, or if you wanted me to take him to a kennel.”

“Makkachin hates the kennel,” Viktor says after a moment. “Leaving him with Phichit is fine, as long as he doesn’t mind.”

“He doesn’t, I cleared it with him beforehand to be sure.”

Viktor nods. “Where are you going?”

Yuuri waves him off as he sets Viktor’s coffee on the counter. “It’s not important, really.” He holds a pastry bag out. “Here. Breakfast. I know you probably haven't eaten anything.” Viktor takes the bag sheepishly, glancing inside to see a croissant.

“Thanks.”

Yuuri nods, looking morose. “I'm sorry I can’t see you off,” he says sadly.

“It’s ok. At least I got to see you here!” He smiles like his heart isn’t breaking, like he hasn’t spent the last few days daydreaming about somehow being able to stay or take Yuuri with him.

 _We’ll have our trip soon,_ he reminds himself.

After these three weeks coming up, they’ll have a couple of days together before leaving for Hasetsu. He takes Yuuri’s hand across the counter before he leaves, bowing slightly to kiss it. “I love you so much,” he says, lips brushing over Yuuri’s knuckles. When he looks up, Yuuri’s eyes are shining. He glances behind his shoulder, and Viktor barely has time to register a woman’s voice before Yuuri’s hand abruptly leaves his. He glances around in confusion before he hears footsteps running around the counter, feels Yuuri’s body slam against him, arms wrapping tightly around Viktor’s torso.

“I'm going to miss you,” he says into Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor holds him close. “I'll miss you, too, Lyubov.” Yuuri’s name tag digs into his chest. “Watch me?” They pull apart just far enough to meet eyes. “Watch me skate?”

Yuuri nods vigorously.  He grips Viktor’s lapels, pulling as he rocks up to kiss him deeply. “I will,” another kiss, “I promise. Be safe, Vitya.”

Viktor rests his forehead on Yuuri’s. He can feel his breath ghosting over his lips and he closes his eyes, savoring the contact for as long as he can. Swallowing tears, he kisses Yuuri’s nose. “I will, Lyubov. I'll see you in three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” Yuuri repeats, before kissing him again. “Three weeks.”

A horn sounds, and Viktor turns to see the taxi driver tapping his watch. Yuuri holds up the coffee and the croissant, putting them in Viktor's hands before kissing him once more on the lips. “Davai, Vitya.”

Viktor nods as he backs away, only turning after nearly knocking over a chair. When the taxi pulls away, he sees Yuuri waving through the window. Once the café is out of sight, he opens the coffee, smiling when he sees the heart floating on top. It’s enough to get him a bit misty-eyed, and he eats as Detroit passes him by.

 

~*~

 

Viktor sleeps the entire flight to Sochi. He’s still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when the taxi pulls up in front of the hotel. Yakov meets him in the lobby for check-in, fedora still dusted with snow. When he gets to his room, Viktor closes the curtains against the late afternoon sunlight. He pulls out his phone. Instagram and Twitter notifications are ignored in favor of texts. Phichit’s sent one wishing him good luck. From Yuuri, though, is a selfie of himself and Makkachin on the couch. A few hours later, a selfie taken by Phichit. He’s in the near foreground, hand over his mouth in a mock scandalized look. Yuuri’s sprawled on the couch behind him, glasses askew with his arm thrown over his face. Drool runs down the side of his open mouth, pooling on the arm of the couch under his cheek. His chunky sweater is bunched up on the side Makkachin’s not laying on, showing off a line of the soft skin beneath, ending where the tips of his fingers are tucked into his waistband. Makka is drooling a puddle on Yuuri’s stomach, content.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3** ****  
**< <<   don’t worry, I sent this wonderful picture to myself, too, so i have another copy in case yours goes missing.  – p** **  
** **< <<   and no, yuuri, i’m not deleting it – p**

 

Viktor smiles, downloading the picture immediately. Yakov ends up pulling him downstairs to the hotel restaurant for a meeting of sorts, and halfway through dinner, Viktor gets a downright rude text from Yuuri. There’s no reason he can think of for Yuuri to be mad at him, other than the picture from last night, but he didn’t actually _send_ it, so…he swallows thickly, but puts his phone away when Yakov raises his voice. Once he’s free and has a printed copy of his interview and event schedules, he makes his way back upstairs. Reaching his room, he pulls out his phone nervously, before quickly dissolving into laughter.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3** ****  
**< <<   you’re an asshole you know that?** ****  
**< <<   why the fuck did you send this from *my* phone, hamstermaster?** ****  
**< <<   where’s the common courtesy** ****  
**< <<   could at least use your own gd phone i know you have one ** ****  
**< <<   don’t ignore me** ****  
**< <<   ** **（╯°□°）╯** **︵** **(** **\** **.o.)** **\** ****  
**< <<   why do you treat me like this      ʕ•.•ʔ t(ò ** **､** **ó)t** ****  
**< <<   see now i can see you on your phone** ****  
**< <<   sitting right outside the café** ****  
**< <<   “doing homework”** ****  
**< <<   no excuses   t(-_- ) ** ****  
**< <<   ….fuck, i can explain vitya   ∑(O_O ) ** ****  
**< <<   i’m so sorry, i just went on break and saw…** ****  
**< <<   it’s been an early morning   ( _   _ |||) ** ****  
**< <<   i haven’t had enough caffeine  (•̀_•́)** **っ♨** **  
** **< <<   those were for phichit (** **￣▽￣** **;)** **ゞ**

 **To: Yuuri <3** ****  
**> >>   No worries!!** **  
** **> >>   You call him hamstermaster?**

 **From: Yuuri <3** ****  
**< <<   it’s his contact name in my phone** ****  
**< <<   i’m sure you can figure out why, lol   o(^** **▽** **^)o** **  
** **< <<   how was your flight? **

**To: Yuuri <3** **  
** **< <<   I slept!! (** **∪** **｡** **∪** **)** **｡｡｡** **zzZ**

 **From: Yuuri <3** ****  
**< <<   that’s one way to pass the time. ** **  
** **< <<   how’s sochi?**

 **To: Yuuri <3** **  
** **> >>   Not exciting in the least!**

 **From: Yuuri <3** **  
** **< <<   (o´Д`)**

 **To: Yuuri <3** **  
****> >>   I don’t have any time in my schedule for sightseeing! (** **ノ** **ಠ** **∩** **ಠ** **)** **ノ** **︵** **┻┻** **  
****> >>   Yakov runs a tight ship.** **  
****> >>   My schedule is packed, though! We’re going back to St. Petersburg the morning after the Gala.** **  
****> >>   I left my favorite suit in Detroit, too.  Σ(°** **△** **° )** **  
****> >>   Would you be willing to ship it to my apartment in Russia? I wanted to wear it at Nationals.**

 **From: Yuuri <3** **  
****< <<   sure! (•ᴗ•)** **♡** **✧** ***** **  
****< <<   send me your address however it needs to be written** **  
****< <<   and i’ll send it off**

 **To: Yuuri <3** **  
** **> >>   I will! Let me know how much shipping is, I’ll reimburse you when I get home. ** **♡** **（ﾉ** **´** **♡** **`** **）**

 **From: Yuuri <3** **  
** **< <<   don’t worry about it**

 

When Viktor takes to the ice for warm-up, it’s to cacophonous welcome from the audience. He takes some time to greet them, waving with a smile. It's the Grand Prix Final, this is the first time he’s been back in Russia since he’s left, and the crowd isn’t shy about their excitement. All eyes are clearly on him as he skates, despite the others on the ice. When he lands a jump, there are cheers, the bits of step sequences he runs through are answered by gasps and clapping. He can see the other competitors staring out of the corner of their eyes. Chris smiles and gives him a wave, while Leroy does increasingly complicated moves.

Soon enough, their time on the ice is over. The competition goes smoothly, as expected, and Viktor’s in the lead after the short program. The next day finds him at practice in the morning, but his afternoon is free and he intends to take full advantage of it. He’s reading in a nearby café, when the chair he’s resting his feet on is pulled out from under them, and a mop of curly blonde hair comes into view above the pages he’s reading. Sliding a bookmark between the pages, he closes the book and sets it down.

“Hi, Vitya!” Chris says cheerfully.

Viktor smiles. “Good to see you again, Chris.”

“Phichit says you and Coffee Boy are doing well.” Leaning back, Chris sips his coffee.

“We are.”

“Have you talked to him, yet?”

“It’s none of your business.” Crossing his legs, Viktor folds his arms and levels a steely gaze in Chris’s direction.

“So you haven’t.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Christophe.”

“Vitya, this isn’t something you can keep putting off.” Chris is whispering furiously now, leaning forward. “You’ve got to discuss this with him.”

“Back. Off.” Voice cold steel, Viktor narrows his eyes.

Chris’s face falls as he sits back in his seat. “I… Ok. Fine.”

There are a few seconds of awkward tension, but it fades when Chris smiles. “You look well.”

Viktor smiles. “Yourself, as well. How’s mystery boyfriend?”

Chris laughs. “Mine’s doing well. We’ll be celebrating our anniversary after I get home.”

“Mazel tov,” Viktor says excitedly. “I’m happy for you! How’s your cat?”

“Doing well!”

They chat animatedly for a while, buying rounds of coffee and tea for each other as they catch up. Chris has had recent renovations done at his place, and he shows Viktor photos of the process. They don’t talk much about the competition, and Viktor determinedly avoids discussing anything to do with Detroit, and when the time comes to head back to the hotel, they walk together.

“I have champagne, if you’d like to join me, Vitya,” Chris says as they reach their floor.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Viktor replies with more regret than he actually feels. “Yakov wants to meet for breakfast tomorrow, and I need to get some sleep before dealing with that.” Smiling genially, he grabs Chris’s shoulder. “Allez, Chris.”

Chris nods, smiling. “Allez, Vitya. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

~*~

 

Yakov’s breakfast pep talk goes better than Viktor’d thought. They stay on-topic, going from discussing the upcoming free skate to strategies for training over the next few weeks. The walk to the arena, while still tense, passes quickly. Press is dealt with, warmups are run through, and the first skater is on the ice when Viktor pulls out his phone.

Yuuri's sent a selfie of him, Phichit, and Makkachin on the couch in their living room, presumably set up to watch the Final. Finding a quiet area, where he has some semblance of privacy, he dials Yuuri's number for a video call.  It’s answered shortly, Yuuri and Phichit’s smiling faces popping up onscreen.

“Hey,” Yuuri says, smiling. “How’s the final so far?” He squirms, laughing, and then Makkachin’s face pops up between him and Phichit. With fingers now running through his hair, Makkachin pants happily at the camera.

“Makka!” Viktor cries excitedly. Makka’s ears perk up, looking for the source of the voice. “Makkachin, who’s my good boy? Are you behaving? Are you being a good boy?”

Makka whines softly, licking Yuuri's face repeatedly. Viktor feels a hand snake around the side of his waist, coming to rest on his hip as stubble scrapes against the side of his face.

“Why, hello, Phichit,” Chris says next to Viktor’s ear. Phichit waves. “Is this your roommate?”

“Yeah, this is Yuuri!” Phichit looks over at Yuuri with a smile. “That’s Christophe Giacometti, he skates for Switzerland.”

“Is that Cow Chris?” Yuuri asks, looking at Viktor inquisitively.

“Cow Chris?” Chris sounds shocked, looking at Viktor. “Do explain, Vitya.”

“Switzerland, remember?” Viktor says, feeling flushed. “When we went to the top of Mt. Pilatus. Those giant cows with the bells?”

Chris grins, likely remembering Viktor’s adamant refusal to go anywhere near the beasts. “I am indeed Cow Chris. It’s an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you, Yuuri.”

“And yourself,” Yuuri replies, smiling.

“Is this the decadent Coffee Boy?” Chris looks at Viktor, something hiding in the depths of his gaze. He knows full well Yuuri is Coffee Boy, and he knows Viktor knows that.

“It is,” Viktor replies. “He’s taking care of Makkachin right now!”

Yuuri's face goes red onscreen, and he hides partway behind a pillow he’s holding.

“That’s sweet,” Chris says. Viktor smiles fondly.

“How’s he doing, Yuuri?” He asks of his dog.

“Good. He misses you, I think, but he’s doing alright. He’s been draped across my lap most of the time.” Yuuri gestures at his lap. “He’s there right now.” Chuckling, Yuuri scratches Makka’s head.

“I bet _you’d_ like to be in Makkachin’s position,” Chris says to Viktor, “on the lap of a cute boy.” Yuuri blushes onscreen.

“I’ll be with Yuuri soon enough,” Viktor replies.

Chris laughs softly. “I should be getting back,” he says. “It was nice seeing you, Phichit. And you, Yuuri.”

“A pleasure,” Yuuri says.

“Take care of Vitya,” Chris responds with a wink. “He needs it, if you know what I mean.”

Yuuri's blush spreads to the tips of his ears behind the pillow, and Phichit laughs.

“Shouldn’t you be warming up?” Phichit smiles, moving the phone camera to face him.

“Oh, I am,” Chris says. “Viktor looked like he was enjoying the view, and I wanted to get in on the action.” He laughs again, flashing a smile. “I should be heading back,” he says, waving at the camera. Phichit waves happily, Yuuri shyly waves his hand.

Chris turns, heading down the hallway, but stops a few steps away. “I’ll see you on the ice, Vitya,” he says. His mouth opens again as he glances at the phone, but he thinks better of whatever he was going to do, shaking his head before he turns to leave.

Viktor looks back at the screen. Yuuri's face is back in full view, Makka nosing him gently, and Phichit’s vanished somewhere.

“I should be getting back, too,” he says. “Will you watch me skate, Lyubov?”

“I will, Vitya,” Yuuri says earnestly. “I am. Davai!”

Viktor makes it back to the rink as Leroy flashes his pose, shouting “JJ Style!” to thundering applause.  The ice is cleared, and Viktor puts his phone in his jacket pocket before slipping it off. He holds it out to Yakov, who takes it with a nod.

“Vitya,” Yakov says, but Viktor just shoots him a glare.

“Unless it’s about my program, right here, right now, I don’t want to hear it, Yakov.” He doesn’t need a lecture before he goes on the ice. He doesn’t _want_ one.

Yakov nods, closing his mouth. Just before Viktor goes on the ice, however, he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Vitya,” Viktor turns his head to the side, barely. “This is _your_ song.”

With a nod, Viktor puts on his most charming smile and does his customary laps around the rink. The audience screams, a sea of banners and flags as he waves, stopping only when he’s at the center. This is his song. His program. He owns it, and as the starting notes of the aria fill the air, he intends to make sure no one forgets. He misses Yuuri already. It’s been only a few days, but the loneliness is almost overwhelming, and he lets it pour into his every sweep of his arms, every turn, every movement he makes.

When he’s done, the roar of the crowd lets him know he’s made his point.

 

~*~

 

The gold medal is heavy around his neck as he checks his phone to see a pair of messages that both soothe and deepen the ache in his heart

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   that was incredible.**  
**< <<   i miss you, too.  (っ˘ω˘ς ) **

 

When Viktor’s in the privacy of the hotel suite hours later, press conference finished and the media satisfied, he takes a selfie of himself in his Team Russia jacket, gold medal held to his lips with a wink, and sends it to Yuuri.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   your skates were amazing!! (♡‿♡)｡**

 

Yuuri sends a selfie in return, dressed in a loose sweater. He’s smiling, and his hair’s in his eyes, but he looks exhausted. His cheekbones stand out under the dark circles shadowing his eyes. Still, seeing him makes Viktor happy.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Are you doing all right, Любовь?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   yeah, i’ve been pulling late nights for this research project   (T⌓T)**  
**< <<   i’ll be ok. **  
**< <<   (ღ˘3˘ღ)**  
**< <<   at minako’s for ballet, now, talk later? **

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Of course. I have more press to do and the Gala, so I'll be busy, but I'll text when I can! **  
**> >>   Will you tell Makkachin I love him? **

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i always do. he’s been really well-behaved. （〜^∇^)〜**  
**< <<   i’ll tell him you're proud of him, too**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Thank you!  ヽ(^ ♡ ^)ﾉ**  
**> >>   Я тебя люблю!!! **

**From: Yuuri: <3**  
**< <<   i love you, too.**

 

He gets a selfie shortly after, Yuuri at the ballet studio in a scoop-neck sweater. His back is to the mirror, and in the reflection Viktor can see how the sweater is just a few inches short, leaving a line of skin between it and the sweats Yuuri's wearing. Bare-faced and smiling, Yuuri waves at the camera. Lips curling up in a smile, Viktor sighs as a gentle warmth envelopes him. Crawling into bed after his shower, he plugs his phone in and sets an alarm before pulling the covers up to his chest. A spare pillow is pulled under the blankets, and Viktor wraps his arms around it, burying his face as he feels the exhaustion of the last few days washing over him.

 

~*~

 

Dealing with sponsors has been no more fun this time than it’s ever been in the past, and Viktor regrets staying at the Gala as long as he had. He’d posed for pictures with sponsors, with his fellow medalists, with a varied assortment of other skaters, and pretty much anyone who’d asked. He’d smiled at all the right times, laughed at all the mediocre jokes, and is eternally grateful Yakov had said nothing as he’d slipped out at his earliest opportunity.

Viktor’s cheeks ache as he rubs them. The elevator is taking an agonizingly long time to get to his floor, and he pulls out his phone while he waits.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Finally heading to my room ( ´ ー ｀)**

 

His phone starts buzzing in his hand as he’s turning down the last hallway. He answers, and he’s just sliding the key card into his door when Yuuri’s face comes on screen. Closing the door behind him, Viktor smiles.

“Hello, Lyubov. You're looking sleepy.”

Yuuri smiles. His oversized T-shirt drapes low around his neck, showing off his collarbones and one smooth shoulder. His hair is messy, and his glasses are slightly crooked as he drinks his coffee.

“I just woke up. Stayed up last night.” The camera tilts, stopping with a nice view of Makkachin draped across Yuuri’s lap. It doesn’t stay long before shifting back to Yuuri. “He’s a sleepy boy, too,” Yuuri says, yawning.

“When do you have work?”

“Tomorrow,” Yuuri says with a sleepy grin. “Day off, today.”

“Lucky you,” Viktor smiles.

Nodding, Yuuri takes a slow sip from his mug.

“How was the Final?” Yuuri asks.

“Uneventful.” Viktor sets his phone down, propping it against the lamp next to his bed as he takes off his jacket. _Chris keeps telling me to talk to you, and I think he’s right,_ his mind supplies. _People are going to find out. People are going to start asking questions. I need to make sure you know what you’re getting into._ He shakes his head. Yuuri deserves better than to have this conversation over video chat while they’re both half asleep. “It was nice seeing Yakov again,” Viktor says. “He’s already planned out my schedule for when I’m in St. Petersburg, and he and Lilia are going to run me through their assessments again to figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

“They’re gonna whip you back into shape, huh?” Yuuri asks. He’s got the phone propped up on his lap, it looks like, and is deftly working a Playstation controller.

“That’s the plan,” Viktor says. He moves off camera to change into pajamas. “I think Yakov’s convinced I spend one day of the week at the rink and the rest eating pastries or something.”

“To be fair,” Yuuri says, laughing, “you _do_ spend a lot of time at the café, and you _do_ order a lot of pastries.”

“They’re usually croissants, when you’re not giving me pastries to flirt,” Viktor says, watching a blush spread across Yuuri’s cheeks, “and I rarely eat sweets or junk food otherwise. Yakov seems to think I live off of Oreos or something.”

“Rafs have a lot of sugar in them.”

“Oh, hush, Yuuri. My point is, Yakov thinks I’m being a lot more irresponsible than I actually _am.”_ He pulls on his t-shirt, adjusts his sweats, and grabs the phone again.

“He should have faith in you,” Yuuri replies, furiously working the buttons and joysticks on his controller. “You’ve kept up with your training, you’re diligent about your meal plan, for the most part, and you’ve obviously not gotten arrested or anything.”

“I haven’t been doing as much cross-training as I should have been.”

Yuuri glances down at the phone with a smile. “If it’s any consolation, I really should be working on my homework right now.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor exclaims, mock-scandalized. “You need to do your homework so you can graduate! You’ve come so far!”

Yuuri laughs, holding the controller loosely in one hand while the other clutches his stomach. The afternoon sun in Detroit filters through the windows across from Yuuri, bringing out the rich brown of his hair, the burgundy of his eyes. His skin looks warm, radiant, and his smile stretches happily across his face.

“You’re so ridiculous, Vitya, I love it.” Yuuri looks lovingly at the phone, and Viktor’s heart seizes in his chest, a flash of loneliness tearing through him before he shakes it off.

 _I want to marry you,_ he thinks, and it’s true. He wants it, wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with that smile, with Yuuri's gentle chiding, in happy contentment with 2.5 dogs and a pink convertible.

Before he can ask Yuuri to marry him, though, he’s got to _talk_ to him.

 

~*~

 

Viktor arrives in St. Petersburg the next morning, sleep in his eyes and a distinct drag in his step. He parts ways with his teammates at the airport, and has the cab stop by a restaurant on the way to his place. When he gets to his apartment, there’s a box waiting outside his door. He takes in his luggage, first, before collecting the package excitedly. Looping handwriting in both English and Russian makes him smile. Yuuri's sent the suit for him. Opening the box with one of his keys, he finds it full of other things, as well. Included in the package are three pounds of Viktor’s favorite dark roast coffee, the recently-released next novel in a series he’s been reading, some of his favorite healthier snacks (and a package of his favorite hard candies with a heart drawn on it), a pair of warm fuzzy socks he absolutely adores and hadn’t realized he’d forgotten, polaroids of Makkachin, and a handwritten note.

_Vitya,_

_Here’s your suit (and your favorite tie, which I thought you might want), as promised, and a few things I thought you might like._

_I know training’s going to come with a lot of early mornings, hence the pound of coffee per week you’re gone. Keep me updated!!_

_And yes, I know the candy’s against your plan but as I’m unable to give you pastries and sugary coffee, it’ll have to do. (Bonus points: easy to sneak!)  Indulge yourself sometime! You work hard, you deserve it!_

_I miss you already, and I’ll see you soon!!_

_Davai!!_

_All my love,_

_Yuuri._

He smiles fondly and curses the world in the same instant. He snaps a selfie of himself with the open box, sending it off to Yuuri with a string of heart-mouthed emojis. He gets a response in the form of a picture of Makkachin curled up on Yuuri's couch.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i’m glad it got to you ok!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° **  
**< <<   i know most people don’t go through a pound of coffee per week**  
**< <<   so you can use some to bribe your coach into liking me **

 

Viktor laughs. It’s not a particularly bad idea, when he thinks about it.

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I just might!**

 

It doesn’t take long for Viktor to slip back into the familiar routine of his St. Petersburg training regimen. Yakov does what he calls a “full reassessment,” running drills and jumps until Viktor’s panting against the boards with a stitch in his side. The next day, Lilia is a demanding taskmaster. Viktor hasn’t been keeping up with his ballet since he’s move to the States, and it’s painfully obvious. Between skating, dance, and working out, Viktor gets home late each night, with barely enough energy to talk to Yuuri before he finds himself falling asleep before his head hits the pillow. He calls Yuuri when he’s out and about, walking to the rink, or to get dinner. As time passes, the calls leave him more tired, more drained. There’s a feeling like homesickness he has when he thinks about Detroit, and he’s sure it’s more about _who_ he’s with (or not with) rather than _where_ he is.

St. Petersburg has never felt less like home. Hearing random snippets of English on the streets has never made him turn his head as quickly. He misses Makkachin more and more with every picture and video from Phichit and Yuuri, and his Instagram quickly becomes a shrine to his dog. The time difference between Detroit and St. Petersburg, surprisingly, turns out to be a blessing. When Viktor’s just getting ready for bed, Yuuri is usually getting off work, and they have a blessed hour or so of time to video chat.

The end of his second week, there’s another box in front of his door when he gets home from the ballet studio. The familiar handwriting makes him giddy, and he tears it open the instant he has a moment. Inside is another assortment of snacks and something soft covered in thick plastic. He looks through the box for a note. Finding one, he opens it and reads, smiling.

_Vitya,_

_First, they didn’t have the flavor of sweet potato chips you like, so I got you a few to try. Sorry!_

_Second, the plastic bag has something I was_ _going_ _to give to you before you left, but the person I commissioned it from ended up having a family emergency, and couldn’t finish it until recently. Luckily, I think this should reach you in time for you to have “company” your last week or so!! We (Makka and I) hope you like him, I stole the idea off your Instagram._

_Davai!!! I’m sure Nationals is going to be great!!_

_Much love (and I’ll see you soon!)_

_Yuuri_

_P.S. I miss you!! Makkachin sends his regards - >_

The arrow Yuuri’d drawn points to an ink pawprint on the page. Makkachin had signed it, too, apparently. Viktor smiles.

Tearing into the plastic package, he reaches in, only to feel something fuzzy. Pulling it out, he laughs happily. It’s a Makkachin plush wearing his Stammi Vicino shirt and jacket, a perfect copy of the picture he’d posted just after receiving the outfit from the tailor. The details are there, the soft, gauzy material of the jacket, the golden ropes on the shoulders, Makka’s adorable tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth… it’s perfect.

He pulls out his phone, dialing Yuuri's number for a video call. Yuuri answers in short order, and appears on the screen in his work uniform and apron.

“Were you at work, Yuuri?” Viktor asks for some reason. As if it’s not obvious. A blush crawls across his cheeks.

Yuuri glances back down at himself and then at the screen, all the while chewing something. He swallows, then takes a drink, before answering. “Yes. Yes, I’m at work, but you caught me on my lunch. Is everything ok?”

In response, Viktor holds up the plush. Yuuri's face immediately lights up as he chuckles.

“Do you like him?” he asks eagerly, as if there’s a possibility Viktor’s going to say no.

“I love him, Yuuri. The costume’s perfect!”

“I figured since I couldn’t send Makka to Russia to surprise you, this was the next best thing. I wanted to give him to you before you left, but no dice.” He shoves another bite of hamburger into his mouth, chewing quickly. The camera tilts as the phone vibrates, and Yuuri looks irritated when he comes back onscreen. “Break’s over,” he sighs.

“I’ll be home soon, Lyubov,” Viktor says. He knows Yuuri can hear the sadness in his voice.

“One more week, Vitya.”

“At Nationals, Yuuri, watch me skate?”

“I will, I promise,” he replies with a smile. “When you’re on the ice, I’ll be watching. I’ll talk to you later, Vitya.”

He waves goodbye before ending the call.

Viktor sighs, clutching the Makkachin plush to his chest. One week.

Just one more week, and he’ll see Yuuri again.

 

~*~

 

The weather in Chelyabinsk is particularly unforgiving the day of the Russian Nationals short program, and not for the first time Viktor’s thankful for whomever it was that decided figure skating should be an indoor sport. He’s just finished his first round of interviews when he checks his phone again, frowning when there are no new messages. He’s been texting Yuuri all morning, but there’s been an unusual lack of response, which is to say, there hasn’t been any at all. Growing steadily more worried, he decides to check in with Phichit.

 

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Yuuri isn’t answering my texts, is everything ok? **

**From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   yea, he’s just heading out on that trip**  
**< <<   give him like, uhhh, a few hours**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I skate in a few hours. (T∩T)**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   oh, don't worry, he's planning on watching for sure. **  
**< <<   i'll let you know if there’s anything to worry about**  
**< <<   you go to do your thing**  
**< <<   i’ll make sure yuuri contacts you when he can**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Thanks, I appreciate it! O(∩_∩)O**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   [photo attached] makka says good luck**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Please tell him I love him and miss him and he’s a very good boy. (>_<｡)**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   ok, i did. he licked my face.**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Thank you! ヽ(´ ♡｀)/**

 

~*~

 

Less than 20 minutes before his short program, there’s still no message from Yuuri. He tries calling, but instantly reaches voicemail. Apparently his phone’s turned off. Viktor’s heading out of the warm-up area when he can swear he sees the flash of a familiar blue jacket near a side entrance to the rink. He rubs his eyes blearily. The strict training regimen and early mornings must be messing with him more than he’d thought they would. The warm-up area is quiet, competitors either already out by the boards, or actively trying to get into the zone. It works for Viktor. Doing stretches, focusing on his short program is impossible as he keeps replaying the memory of that jacket. It’s not particularly special in its own right, and he’s seen plenty just like it before.

It’s becoming clear just how much he’s missing Yuuri. He finishes his stretching, and sighs before making his way to the rink. The halls are empty, competition in full swing, and his eyes glance around against his will, searching. The person before him is finishing his program as Viktor finally meanders to the entrance, hesitating briefly. With a sigh, he walks through the curtains towards Yakov, but his heart skips as he sees another flash of a distinctly lumpy beanie near Lilia. His breath catches in his throat.

_It can’t be…_

He’s prevented from investigating when he hears his name announced. The previous skater is sitting in the Kiss & Cry, and the last of the stuffed animals and flowers have been picked up. Viktor looks at his surroundings, straining to see around other skaters and members of the press, before Yakov almost shoves him into the rink.

“Vitya, you’re up.”

Viktor nods as he removes his skate guards, handing them to Yakov before taking to the ice in a fluid motion. He does a lap around the rink, greeting the audience with a glittering smile as he scans his eyes over the crowd. He skates to the center, moving languidly in small circles, before glancing back at his coach. Instead, he sees Yuuri, standing next to Lilia. He has a surgical mask up, but his eyes are twinkling as he waves softly and Viktor barely keeps his jaw from dropping. It takes him a second to remember he’s supposed to be competing, and he skates another small circle before taking his opening position with aplomb.

 _“Watch me,”_ he thinks, and Yuuri _is._ He’s here, in Russia, at the boards, and Viktor can feel his eyes on him as he moves into his routine with grace.

 _“Watch me,”_ he thinks as he soars. The crowd cheers in the distance as he steps deftly across the rink. He takes a pass wide so he can skate past Yuuri, catching just a glimpse of him watching, awestruck. Golden blades fly across the cold ice, drawing his love with every stroke, every movement dedication.

 

When Viktor finishes putting on his hard guards, Yuuri’s nowhere to be found. He’s sitting at the Kiss & Cry waiting for his scores and carrying on the noble tradition of tuning out Yakov’s customary post-skate lecture, when he feels Lilia’s gentle hand on his shoulder. She leans in close to his ear and whispers, “He said he did not want to be around the press, so I had him taken to the hotel.” He nods, and smiles as his scores are announced. He’s in first, ahead of Georgi and the skater who’d gone just before him. The others have yet to perform, but having seen their previous competition footage, he’s not sure he has to worry.

He’s on his way to the warm up area when the press finally catches up to him.

“Mr. Nikiforov! How do you feel going into the free skate?” A microphone appears to his left.

He does his best to play the friendly-yet-tired athlete. “I feel great! Coach Feltsman and I have been working on polishing presentation, and I feel like it’s going to pay off.” _Let me go, Yuuri's here._

“Any competitors you’re watching out for?” More microphones are shoved in his face, causing him to shift slightly backward.

“I’m bringing my best to the table and I’m sure my fellow competitors will do the same! I wish them all the best of luck with their programs!” He smiles. It’s plastic. He doesn’t care.

“Yuri Plisetsky is planning on making his senior debut next season. As the person at the forefront of Russian figure skating, and Plisetsky’s rink mate, what are your thoughts?”

“Yura has much potential and I look forward to seeing how his career develops!” It’s not a lie. Yuri has the skills needed to make it in the Senior Division, but his self-discipline and presentation is lacking. If he can work through that, though, Viktor may be in for a run for his money when they finally compete. He’s looking forward to it.

“Why have you chosen to train in Detroit over your home rink in St. Petersburg?”

 _I found Yuuri there. I found life and love again, in a small café in Michigan._ “I felt like I was stagnating, but the change in setting and the sense of adventure that’s come with it has offered new inspiration! It’s been refreshing, to say the least, but my heart will always belong to Russia!” He laughs genially, winking at the cameras. _There. A nice sound bite for you. Now leave me alone._

He’s grateful when Yakov pushes his way through the throng of reporters, grabbing Viktor’s arm and leading him away. When the press tries to keep interviewing, he cites Viktor’s strict training regimen and a need to discuss the free skate as reason enough for them to stop hounding. The media leaves them alone, knowing better than to antagonize Yakov Feltsman. Viktor still gets chills when he remembers Yakov throwing a particularly nosy reporter’s camera and microphone to the floor, destroying them. To be fair, though, he’d warned them to back off plenty before that. As they walk quickly to the hotel, Viktor looks at his mentor.

“Nothing to say? You had choice words in Sapporo, as I recall,” Viktor says coolly.

“I'm not here to scold you, Vitya.”

“Could have fooled me.” He’s being petulant, and he knows it, but Yakov also knows he’d been an ass, so it all works out.

“You've managed to go this long without incident. I'll reserve judgment until after Nationals. Bring him to dinner tomorrow.” It’s a rare moment of acknowledgement from Yakov, that maybe, _maybe_ Viktor knows what he’s doing. He obviously thinks Yuuri's worth something if he’s asking to talk to him.

The anger in Viktor’s chest subsides a bit as he nods. “I will.”

Yakov grunts. They walk silently the rest of the way, snow falling gently on their shoulders. By the time they arrive at the hotel, ice is crunching underfoot. They make their way through the lobby, and despite the excitement coursing through him, Viktor smiles happily as people stare, pausing for the occasional photo or autograph. Near the hotel bar, Yakov stops suddenly. Viktor looks back with a raised eyebrow.

Yakov meets his eyes after an appraising look. “Practice is at 8 tomorrow. Don’t be _late,_ Vitya.”

Viktor nods before he rushes to the elevator. He presses the call button, rocking back on his heels as he waits for doors to open. Yuuri's here. Yuuri's waiting in his room. An elevator opens, and Viktor almost bowls over a family on their way out in his eagerness to get inside. He presses the button for his floor, fidgeting impatiently as the doors take their time closing. The floor numbers tick up agonizingly slowly before the doors open again. Hefting his gear and garment bags over his shoulder, Viktor nearly trips over his feet as he runs, navigating the halls easily after years of hotel experience, and he finally comes to a screeching halt in front of his room.

Fumbling with his bags, he pulls out his key card, jamming it into the door before pushing it open as Yuuri stands. Yuuri, who is here and smiling and who watched Viktor skate. He’s setting his DS down as Viktor shuts the door behind him, dropping his things, and they’re both moving towards each other. Viktor throws his arms around Yuuri as their lips meet and it feels so _right_ he could cry. They stand together, for a few minutes, holding each other tightly. Yuuri’s face is buried in his neck and Viktor feels his breath against his throat as he lets out a contented sigh. It’s been almost three weeks since Viktor left Detroit for the Grand Prix Final. Almost a month of only texting and video calling and he’d never imagined the toll it would take.

“Yuuri, what are you doing here?! I thought you hated travel!”

Yuuri smiles and it’s so incredibly bright. “I wanted to watch you compete! And it’s your birthday, soon. I wanted to spend it with you.”

Viktor hugs him again before pulling back. “What about the media, though? They crowd around and I’m a prime target, it being Russian Nationals and all…” He trails off when Yuuri looks at him.

“I, uh, explained everything to your coaches, and they’re ok with helping me sneak around.” Viktor’s slightly taken aback. It’s unlike Yakov and Lilia to be so accommodating of even their own skaters, much less a complete stranger. He makes a note to thank them properly, since they’re probably doing it on his behalf. “I um, I got my own room, but just for the first night.”

“Are you not staying for the whole competition? You should stay in here, with me!”

“I thought you’d say that.” Yuuri grins cheekily. “I just wanted to make sure I had a place to stay in case I couldn’t see you today.”

_Well then._

Viktor kisses him. It’s gentle, but deep and enthusiastically returned.

 

They wake up together the next day, huddled close under the blankets in the winter chill.

“So how was your trip?” Viktor asks sleepily, half-conscious in the morning sunlight.

“What trip?” Yuuri grumbles into his chest.

“Whatever you had to leave Makkachin with Phichit for?”

Yuuri props himself up on one elbow, a look of irritation and disbelief plastered on his face. He raises one eyebrow, rolling his eyes and throwing his hand out to the side. He waves it in a vague circle before flopping back down on the pillow and pulling the blanket over his face. Viktor chuckles and moves the blanket over his own head. “I see,” he says, planting kisses on Yuuri’s cheek once he has access. Yuuri moves closer, snuggling into his chest as he sighs.

 

~*~

 

That evening, after Viktor finishes practice, they go to dinner. Yuuri smiles shyly as he’s introduced to Viktor’s rink mates officially. Georgi introduces himself, moving directly into congratulating Yuuri on “bringing such love into our dear Vitya’s life” before waxing poetic about love itself. He stops once they’re seated, engrossed in the menu. Yuuri seems to already know Mila, and they chat amicably for a few minutes. “She helped me get to the hotel,” Yuuri explains when he notices Viktor’s surprise.

Yuri walks in with Lilia and Yakov, having been delayed by the press, and they take their seats at the end of the table. The waiter brings menus, and Viktor’s engrossed in the descriptions of the offered dishes when he feels a small tug on his sleeve.

“I can’t read this,” Yuuri says when Viktor looks over.

Viktor glances back at the menu, back up at Yuuri, and down again before he registers what the problem is. “Ahh.”

The restaurant doesn’t have English menus, so Viktor spends the next ten minutes translating while Yuuri listens closely. When the food is ordered and drinks are on the table, the conversation turns towards Viktor’s stay in the States and, inevitably, Yuuri.

“Do you have a job?” Mila asks as she takes a sip of her tea.

“I do,” Yuuri replies. “I work at a café near the skating rink.”

“He makes the best coffee!” Viktor chimes in with a smile.

“Are you the one who made the latte with Makkachin on it?” Mila asks, eyes shining.

Yuuri gives a small nod. “I am.”

“It looked just like him!” she says excitedly. “What else can you make?”

“Just the basics,” Yuuri says, blushing. “Leaves, hearts, swirls…” He plays with his hands under the table.

“Poodles,” Viktor says.

Yuuri nods, adding, “cats, too.”

Yuri perks up in the corner. “You can make a cat?” he asks disbelievingly.

Yuuri nods again happily. “The 3D ones.”

“Prove it.”

“Next time you and I are in the same place, and I have access to an espresso machine, I will.” Yuuri smiles, raising his chin. _Challenge accepted,_ his posture says, and Yuri raises an eyebrow, scoffing, before going back to his meal.

 

“He is treating you well, yes?” Lilia asks in a whisper while Yuuri's in the bathroom.

Viktor nods, swallowing the food in his mouth. “He is.”

“And you are happy with him?”

He smiles, pushing the beef around his plate a bit. “Very. I can’t thank you and Yakov enough for sneaking him around for me.”

Lilia’s lips purse as she looks him up and down, an unreadable expression on her face. “Indeed.”

Yuuri sits back down at Viktor’s side, glancing anxiously at Lilia before smiling. Viktor kisses him on the forehead.

“I assume you found what you were looking for, Mr. Katsuki?”

“I did, thank you.” Yuuri pushes his potatoes around, staring determinedly at his plate. He doesn’t notice the way Lilia’s eyes linger on him, briefly enough that people who didn’t know her would think it a passing glance. Viktor sees it for what it is, though, and wraps his arm protectively around Yuuri.

He smiles cheerfully, if a bit forced. “You can all call him Yuuri, you know! There’s no need to be so formal!” _Don’t push him away._

Lilia looks at Yuuri, and he moves to meet her gaze. They share a moment, before Yuuri gives a slight nod and goes back to his food.

“There’s only room for one Yuri!” Yuri says, pointing with his fork. “And it’s not going to be this pig!”

“Yuri Plisetsky!” Lilia hisses. “You will watch your tone with our guest.”

“It’s alright, Madame Lilia.” Yuuri says, smiling nervously. “He’s young.”

 _“What?!”_ Yuri screeches, jumping to his feet. Yakov claps a hand on his shoulder, keeping the teen from vaulting the table.

“Sit down,” he says gruffly. When Yuri opens his mouth to argue, Yakov’s eyes narrow. “Yura. _Sit.”_

Yuri shuts his mouth and sits down, glaring at Yuuri across the table. “Name a food then,” he says petulantly.

Yuuri furrows his brow, twisting his mouth to the side as he concentrates. “Katsudon,” he replies after a minute.

“Cat’s…..doom?” Yuri raises his eyebrows.

“Ka-tsu-don,” Yuuri clarifies. “It’s a fried pork cutlet on rice, with egg on top. It’s my favorite!” He grins happily.

Yuri huffs. “Whatever, Katsudon.” He stabs a piece of meat, shoving it into his mouth angrily.

“Yura!” Lilia says curtly.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says cheerfully. “I like katsudon, and I’m sure it’s far nicer than whatever else he could come up with.”

Everyone around the table nods in agreement except the teenager in question, who has taken it upon himself to make his annoyance obvious. Silverware clanks against the ceramic dishes as the group eats their dinner, Yuuri leaning on Viktor sleepily after he finishes his food. Viktor wraps his arm around him, resting his cheek on Yuuri's hair. He doesn't miss his fellow skaters’ glances. Mila smiles, elbowing Georgi, who grins and gives Viktor a wink. Yakov doesn’t look entirely displeased, the corners of his mouth giving the barest twitch occasionally. Lilia, as usual, is nearly unreadable, but her eyes move between him and Yuuri thoughtfully. Slouching in his chair, Yuri’s gaze is fixed firmly on his plate.

Viktor feels the weight on his shoulder shift and sees everyone’s eyes widen the instant before he hears the sharp _thump_ of Yuuri’s head hitting the table in front of him. Yuuri sits up quickly, before clutching his nose and curling into himself with a whine.

“Are you ok, Lyubov?” There is no shortage of raised eyebrows around the table at the endearment, Mila’s grin widening impossibly.

“I fell asleep,” Yuuri moans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Viktor grabs a paper napkin off the table and holds it in front of Yuuri, wrapping his arm around him. Yuuri takes the offered napkin, dabbing his lip and pulling it away to see blood. Sighing, Viktor holds out a tissue, which is promptly taken by Yuuri to be torn up and stuffed in his nostrils. Kissing his temple, Viktor hugs him tightly.

It’s not until dessert is brought out, a lone candle in Viktor’s dish, that he remembers it’s his birthday. A twin candle in Georgi’s has him grinning at the other man. They’ve always celebrated their birthdays at the same time, being one day apart, and there’s a sense of nostalgia as they blow out their candles, smiling. Yuuri's eyes widen as Mila runs around the table, setting herself up behind Viktor and eagerly pulling on his ears while Yuri goes to work on Georgi’s. Viktor laughs good-naturedly when she finishes, putting his arm around Yuuri. He looks vaguely concerned about the enthusiasm with which Mila was tugging, but his face softens when Viktor gives him a kiss.

“I’m used to Mila’s brand of birthday well-wishing,” he says with a grin.

Yuuri smiles and kisses him on the nose. “Happy Birthday, Vitya,” he chuckles. Looking over, he smiles in Georgi’s direction. “Happy Birthday to you, as well, Georgi,” he says, getting a nod in return. Dessert is eaten quickly, and shortly after, he’s dozing on Viktor’s shoulder again. It’s endearing, and Viktor wraps his arm around him again, gently pulling Yuuri towards himself and kissing the top of his head. Georgi meets his eyes across the table and gives him a smile, which Viktor warmly returns.

Yuuri wakes up a few minutes later when Viktor chuckles at one of Mila’s jokes. Sleepily, he rubs his eyes and leans closer, wrapping his arms around Viktor tightly. “I’m tired, Vitya,” he says as he yawns.

“Maybe it’s time for us to go back to the hotel?”

Yuuri nods into his shoulder.

Slipping some bills to Yakov to cover the food, Viktor orders a cab for the return to the hotel. Yuuri leans on him the whole way, snoring softly as the lights of Chelyabinsk flicker across his face. He wakes sleepily when they arrive, allowing Viktor to lead him to their room.

They brush their teeth together in the en-suite, Yuuri's eyes fluttering sleepily. He crawls into bed first while Viktor checks his costume, hanging it on the back of the door to let it air out. His gear bag is reorganized, makeup and chapstick put in their regular pockets. He wipes his skates down, and puts them back in gently. By the time he’s folded his tracksuit and laid it atop his bag, gentle snores are coming from the vicinity of the bed. Turning off the light, he crawls under the already-warm covers happily. Pressing a kiss to Yuuri's forehead, he pulls him close, settling into his sleepy embrace.

 

~*~

 

He leaves for the venue early the next morning, Yuuri still barely conscious as he gives Viktor a sleepy kiss goodbye. Viktor makes his way through the cold streets with ease. The winter air bites at his cheeks, waking him up even before he enters a café to buy coffee. Absently playing with his phone, Viktor sips his coffee slowly. As he enters the competition venue, he greets people with a smile, stopping for a few pictures with fans before making it to the competitor’s area. He’s barely putting his stuff down when Yakov sidles up next to him.

“Vitya, have you seen Yura?”

He raises an eyebrow in Yakov’s direction. “Did you lose him or something?”

Yakov’s scowl deepens somehow. “He ran off when we got here. He’s got another round of interviews coming up about the Junior Nationals next month and he’s nowhere to be found. Already missed the first.”

Sighing, Viktor massages his forehead. “I’ll go find him. Let me know if he comes back, so I don’t keep looking,” he says. When Yakov nods, he heads down a random hallway. Viktor doesn’t even know why Yuri’s here to begin with, aside from Yakov and Lilia not trusting him to stay in St. Petersburg alone. He could have had these few days to visit his grandpa, spend Chanukkah with him, but instead, he’s stuck here in Chelyabinsk, and Viktor’s apparently got babysitting duty on top of the competition itself.

Wandering the back halls of the competition venue, Viktor finally hears Yuri’s shouting, and goes to locate its source, though he can’t quite figure out who he’s yelling at.

“And _you,_ old man!! Why the fuck does Yakov get mad at _me_ when you’re not even in the competitor’s area!! You’re not even dressed properly!!! Since when does Viktor Nikiforov wear jeans and a t-shirt to a competition, anyway?! And what’s with the stupid hat on your head? Everyone thinks you’re some stupid fashion icon, but maybe you’re starting to lose your touch.” His voice has adopted that gratingly condescending tone Viktor hates so, _so_ much.

He looks down at himself. He’s still wearing his tracksuit and tennis shoes, which means either Yuri’s ranting to himself and more confused than he thought as far as normal fashion goes, or…he only _thinks_ he’s talking to Viktor. There’s one person in this world Viktor knows of that could be confused for him like this, and Yuri doesn’t know he exists. It’s just like Alexei to surprise him at a competition. His heart beats faster as happiness floods his torso, and he jogs down the hall and around the corner, smiling when he sees Yuri yelling at his brother, who just looks amused. Alexei’s grin widens when he glances over to see Viktor holding a finger to his lips. He takes a few quiet steps into the room.

“What are you talking about, Yura? I’m dressed just fine!” Viktor says cheerfully, with the widest grin he can manage. He doesn’t get many opportunities as golden as this one.

Yuri whips his head around. His jaw drops, eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he looks between Viktor and Alexei disbelievingly. “What the _fuck?!”_ he screeches, pointing between the two.

Viktor laughs, walking over to put a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Lyosha, this is Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky. Yura, this is my twin brother, Alexei Alexandrovich,” he says cheerfully.

Alexei grins, closing his eyes, and waves. “Hi!”

“The last thing the world needs is _two_ of you,” Yuri mutters under his breath, but he takes Alexei’s offered hand and shakes.

“The last thing _you_ need is to piss Yakov off any more than you already have. You’ve missed your first round of interviews, and the next starts in ten minutes,” Viktor says happily. “I’d get a move on if you don’t want to be running even _more_ drills when you get back to St. Petersburg!”

Yuri flips him off before turning on his heel and stalking away. Viktor meets his brother’s gaze, amusement twinkling behind his eyes. It's barely a second before they’re laughing uncontrollably, leaning on each other for support.

“He totally thought I was you!” Alexei is almost crying as he clutches his stomach. “He went on for ten minutes about you, and Yakov, and how Yakov likes you better for no apparent reason, and something about your costumes being stupid. I don’t think he’s figured out Yakov’s just given up fighting you at this point.” He pulls Viktor into his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Vitka.”

Viktor hugs his brother, happy beyond measure. “You too, Lyoshen’ka.”

Quick footsteps come down a nearby hallway, and Viktor hears a squeal as his sister leaps into his arms. He swings her in a circle, laughing as he peppers her face with kisses.

“Katya! Don’t jump on your brother!” He feels his mothers’ arms around him mere seconds after he sets his sister down, pulling him into a close hug. Melting into their embrace, he puts his arms around them in turn. Simultaneous kisses on his cheeks have him smiling happily.

“Are you going to watch the free skate?” he says eagerly.

Maman smiles. “Of _course_ we are, Vitya! We got tickets and everything, we’ll be right near the Kiss and Cry!”

“I got something to throw at you!” Katya giggles.

“I’ll buy you a souvenir if you hit Viten’ka in the head.” Alexei says as he throws his arm around her shoulders.

“Alexei!”

Viktor laughs, ruffling Katya’s hair before kissing it. “I’ll skate too fast for either of you to hit me.”

“I’ll throw it when you exit, then!” Katya says, pouting.

“I’ll do a quad flip over the boards on the other side,” he retorts.

“Well,” she says with smug satisfaction, “We’re gonna be near the Kiss and Cry anyway, and you’ve _got_ to go there!”

“Ahh, yes, you’ve caught me,” he responds jovially, tickling her sides. “What will I ever do once you’re not a baby anymore?”

“Vitya, I’m _thirteen!”_

He laughs, hugging his sister tightly, kissing her hair before letting go. “I should be getting back,” he says, “but I’ll look for you in the audience!”

Katya gives him one last embrace, while Alexei ruffles his hair with a smile. “Davai, Viten’ka. We’ll be watching.” His mothers smile and hug him, kissing him on the cheeks before he heads back.

 

~*~

 

Yakov stares stonily ahead while Viktor warms up in front of the camera. As far as they’re concerned, it’s just as much of a performance as his time on the ice. Sponsors like to see how hardworking he is, his fans just apparently enjoy watching him move. The press likes any footage they can get of him doing anything, so they crowd around and film segments to show while they discuss him, his career, his scores…his personal life, or what they think that might look like. Running through the familiar choreography of Stammi Vicino, he lets himself get lost in the haze of the last few days he’s had with Yuuri.

Soon enough, he’s changed and on the ice to warm up, running through bits of his step sequences and choreography. He does a few jumps, just because, and then skates off the rink when the competition starts. Checking his phone, he sees Yuuri's messaged him about meeting privately before he skates, in a storage closet somewhere nearby. A quick glance tells him Yakov and Lilia are talking amongst themselves, and he takes the opportunity to slip away. He wanders the corridors in the direction Yuuri’d said he’d gone, until he finds a door with Yuuri's beanie perched on the handle. Smiling, he knocks quickly before opening the door and removing the beanie.

Yuuri's smile shines in the light from the hallway before it vanishes, and Viktor feels hands on his chest in the dark. He’s still wearing his Olympic jacket over his costume, and he feels a gentle tug on the front. Grinning, he lowers his face towards where he knows Yuuri's to be, and puckers his lips for a kiss just before they connect with cold glass and a thin strip of metal. He hears a snort, and then giggling, and then feels warm lips brush his affectionately.

“Those would have been my glasses,” Yuuri says, amused.

“I thought that might have been the case,” Viktor laughs. “I’m used to you being a few inches taller.”

“No, _you’re_ used to being a few inches shorter,” Yuuri retorts. “Don’t you have your skates on?”

Viktor hums in agreement before he feels cool, soft hands on his cheeks. His face is pulled gently down, and Yuuri kisses him.

“My family’s here,” Viktor says quietly, and he hears a small gasp.

“They came to watch?”

Viktor nods. “Yeah. They just showed up out of the blue, same as you did. My moms, and my brother and sister, too. I’ll introduce you after, da?”

“I’d love that.” Yuuri sounds excited for Viktor, and his arms wrap around Viktor’s torso, under his jacket, as he leans his head against his shoulder. Yuuri’s coat is still chilled a little from the walk over, bits of ice melting onto Viktor’s hands, but when he sighs against Viktor’s neck his breath is warm. Viktor feels himself shiver. Yuuri pulls away, and Viktor curses the lack of contact before he feels soft kisses on his cheek. He turns his head, and Yuuri chuckles when his lips connect with Viktor’s. He kisses him again, and Viktor can feel the smile on Yuuri’s lips, in his cheeks, and he knows Yuuri can feel his own.

“Is your coach going to get angry if you spend the time before your free skate making out in a closet?” Yuuri asks, laughing as he kisses him softly.

“If not that, something else,” Viktor replies. “But it’ll be worth it.”

“This was supposed to be,” Yuuri says as he kisses Viktor’s nose, “one of those pre-skate pep talks,” another kiss, this time on his chin, “where I get to cheer you on in person,” a gentle brush on his lips, “instead of with emojis over text,” he finishes.

“I love your emojis,” Viktor murmurs. “They’re adorable. And creative.” He kisses Yuuri's forehead, “and you include Makka,” this time his eyebrow, “and I love going back and re-reading your messages.” A small peck on Yuuri's nose is rewarded with the most precious giggle Viktor’s heard thus far.

“I can’t wait to see Stammi Vicino in person.”

“I skate it for you now, you know,” Viktor says softly, and he feels Yuuri gasp, shifting against him. _“Stammi Vicino,”_ he murmurs into Yuuri's ear, _“non te andare, ho paura di perderti.”_

There’s a hiss of Yuuri sucking air through his teeth, before his lips smash against Viktor’s, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Heat curls low in Viktor as he returns the kiss desperately, enthusiastically. Hands run up and down sides, under and over jackets, and all they know is the taste and feel of each other in the dark. Yuuri's body presses against Viktor’s, warm and firm, slotting against him like they were made for each other.

There’s a pause in Yuuri's ministrations, his breath hot against Viktor’s throat for a long moment. Warm lips brush Viktor’s jaw, nip at his lower lip, before moving to encompass his once more. Yuuri presses forward, one arm firmly around Viktor’s waist as the other sneaks under his jackets, tracing the muscles of Viktor’s chest. Shivering, Viktor allows his hands to come to rest on Yuuri's hips, fingers moving gently over firm muscle. Skate guards click as Viktor is pushed back into the shelving lining the wall, and bottles rattle precariously before there’s a yelp, Yuuri vanishing from his arms in an instant.

“Are you ok, Lyubov?” Viktor asks as he kneels.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, it just got me on the head” Yuuri says as he stands, until the top of his head collides with Viktor’s, causing both of them to jump back in pain. There’s rattling as another few bottles fall off the shelf, landing on Viktor’s back and shoulders, and he hears Yuuri snort before dissolving into laughter. Soon enough, Viktor’s laughing with him, and he feels hands moving up his legs to his arms, before Yuuri pulls himself standing.

Viktor throws his arms around Yuuri. “Watch me skate?” he asks fervently, as if the answer’s ever been anything other than a resounding “ _yes,”_ and Yuuri cups his face gently.

“Until the very end,” he says sincerely, breath ghosting across Viktor’s lips, “I’ll keep my eyes only on you.”

They’re interrupted by a knock, freezing. Their breathing grows slow, rhythmic, and they cling to each other while they wait for the threat to pass.

Another knock on the door, followed by a high-pitched “Viktor, I know you’re in there.”

“It’s Mila,” Viktor says, rolling his eyes. He opens the door a crack, wincing as light spills into the room. “Anyone around?”

She shakes her head, “No, but it’s almost your turn. Yakov’s not thrilled, but he thinks you’re in the bathroom.” She leans to the side, looking around him, and waves. “Hi, Yuuri!”

“Hi,” comes the quiet response from the closet. He turns, and Yuuri's bright scarlet, his lips a vivid, swollen red, and Viktor flushes more when he realizes it’s blatantly obvious what, exactly, they’d been doing.

Mila chuckles. “I’ll tell him I found you outside of the bathroom. You may want to, um, cover some stuff up,” she says as he gestures to Viktor’s forehead.

“Now’s hardly the time for a forehead joke, Mila.”

Yuuri's hand is gentle on his shoulder, and when he turns, Yuuri smiles. “I think she was talking about the bright red spot you have. From when we bumped into each other.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Mila jokes, and Viktor feels his blush down the back of his neck. He glances both ways down the hallway.

“How long do I have?”

“Not enough time to go back in that closet, that’s for sure. They were calling Kadnikov to the ice when I left, then is Rabrenovich, and Gosha’s after him. Then you, but I left a few minutes ago, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Rabrenovich is on the ice already.”

He lets out a sigh, but looks back at Yuuri with a pained smile. “Duty calls,” he says, turning to kiss him.

“Davai, Vitya,” he says in return, smiling.

“I can get Yuuri to the rink,” Mila offers with a grin and a wink. “Go, Vitya.”

Viktor doesn’t have time to question what she’s up to, instead kissing Yuuri again before heading off at a brisk pace. He makes it to the locker room with time to spare, Rabrenovich just taking to the ice on the TV’s he’s passed, and manages to apply cover-up and more eyeliner quickly.

 

When Viktor gets back to the boards, hair fixed and newly-chapsticked lips still kissed red, Yuri gives him a disgusted look.

“What, were you sucking face with Katsudon or something?”

Viktor just smiles, removing his jacket while Yuri sticks out his tongue. Georgi finishes his routine to applause, flowers and plush hearts raining down onto the ice as he thanks the audience with a flourish. He skates to the exit, and as he steps out of the rink, he looks at Viktor.

“Davai, Vitya,” he says, and Viktor tries to ignore the defeat already in his eyes. He and Georgi had been close, friends even, in the years before Viktor’d become Russia’s darling. They’d spent long nights talking together about dealing with Yakov, their hopes, their dreams, their families and their favorite foods and what they missed most about home. They whispered ridiculous routine ideas in the dark of their shared dorm room, and came up with even more harebrained ideas for ice shows and exhibition skates. It had been nice, while it lasted. Viktor’d had someone he could connect with, who understood him in ways his non-skating friends hadn’t been able to.

But then he’d started winning medals, and Georgi hadn’t. He’d become Russia’s sweetheart, Russia’s pride and joy. Russia’s _National Hero._ Georgi had become “Viktor Nikiforov’s Rinkmate.” They’d never stopped being friendly, and Viktor’d never stopped _caring_ about him (and had never gotten the impression Georgi didn’t feel the same), but the space between them, both competitive and emotional, had grown uncomfortably vast. Viktor became a Living Legend, Georgi became a friendly acquaintance, and that’s how it’s been ever since.

In response to the encouragement, Viktor claps his hand on Georgi’s shoulder, giving him a nod. “Gosha,” he says, and he knows Georgi understands. Georgi heads to sit at the Kiss and Cry with Yakov, and when Viktor chances a glance at the seats above it, he sees his family with banners and flags, smiling and waving. He raises his hand shyly, giving a little wave. His sister jumps up in her seat, waving harder, and he sees Alexei grab the back of her jacket to keep her from falling over the railing. Alexei’s wearing a beanie now, hair tucked underneath, he notes with a smile. Unsurprising, since he’s probably been approached for interviews already.

Lilia gestures at the ice with a _look,_ the kind that tells Viktor he’s wasting unnecessary time, and as he’s pulling his skate guards off, his eyes come to rest on Yuuri, standing in a back corner by himself with a surgical mask on. Yuuri waves, then makes a heart with both hands, and Viktor beams as he takes to the ice with aplomb.

The audience is on their feet chanting his name as he greets them, banners with his name and face blanket the stands. The roar of the crowd fills the stadium, and he flashes his best smile, waving, as he skates a few laps. Cheering continues as he moves to take his place in the center of the rink, but once he’s taken his starting position, silence falls.

The opening notes of the aria float through the air, and with them, Viktor.

For all of the times he’d skated Stammi Vicino, for all of the times he’d used his body to call out, first in desperation, and then in love, he’d never in his life expected _this._ He’d never expected his family to be here, watching. He’d only dreamed Yuuri would.

Now, everyone he loves is here, eyes fixed on him, and it feels like his blades barely make contact with the ice as he dances across its surface. It’s not difficult to let himself fall into the music, channeling his emotions into every movement while he lets his newfound giddiness take him to unprecedented heights.

 _It’s a love letter,_ he realizes, about his routine. Somewhere along the way, it had gone from a manifestation of loneliness to a demonstration of his love, his adoration. His infatuation with a barista from Detroit whose coffee and embrace have, somehow, become home even thousands of miles from Russia.

 _Stay close to me, Yuuri,_ he says, with every fiber of his being.

 _Never leave,_ he begs with every outstretched arm, every spin.

_I’m scared of losing you._

He swings into his final pose to elated cheers, the crowd on their feet as he blinks, coming back to the present. Taking a bow, he greets each area of the audience with a flourish, turning last towards Yakov and Lilia. He catches a glimpse of Yuuri, brown eyes shimmering brighter than the gold Viktor’s just won.

Yuuri stays through the medaling ceremony, keeping to the dark corners near the exits. When Viktor moves off the podium for publicity photos, he sees a wave from one of the doorways. He smiles at Yuuri, nodding, before Yuuri vanishes into the crowd, and Viktor lets himself ease into the thrill of victory. Georgi stands to his right, Kradnikov to his left, and Russia cheers as the cameras flash.

Standing at the top of the podium had felt better than it has in years, and Viktor lets himself bask in the glow as he fields questions. Everything is going well, despite the fact that the only thing Viktor wants to do right now is be anywhere but in front of the cameras, until one of the younger reporters brings up Detroit and Viktor’s stomach plummets.

“Mr. Nikiforov, do you have any comments about the rumors regarding a special someone in your life?”

“What rumors would those be?”

“There are rumors that you moved to Detroit in order to be with a secret long-distance boyfriend, do you have anything to say in response?”

Viktor’s never wanted to tell the press to fuck off as badly as he does now, and Chris was _right,_ he _needs_ to talk to Yuuri about this. It’s reached the boiling point, that place where Viktor’s not sure he can hide things any longer. He knows he doesn’t want to.

He briefly considers retiring on the spot, just to get away from them.

He loves Yuuri too much to do anything rash, though, so he throws on his best press smile and gives a laugh. “Well, over the years there’s been such wild speculation about my love life, I’m not surprised a secret lover in Detroit is one of them!”

“Fans say they’ve seen you out and about with a young man, is he someone special?”

“I’m allowed to make friends, aren’t I?” He can feel that cutting edge in his voice, a warning for the people who bother to pay attention.

This reporter is not one of those people.

“Rumors have also circulated that you were seen entering a restaurant with the same young man here in Chelyabinsk. Are there any truth to those?”

Someone saw him with Yuuri? Panic curls through his chest before he feels an arm around his shoulder.

“Perhaps your sources are mistaken,” Alexei says next to him. “I went out to dinner last night with a dear friend, and as you can see, Viktor and I can be very easily confused, especially at a distance. _Especially_ by people who don’t know us very well.”

Viktor sends a silent prayer of thanks for his brother.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Alexei continues, making sure to meet the gazes of a few specific members of the press, “that I’ve been confused for my brother by strangers or the media.” His voice has an edge of laughter, a note of warning. Viktor wonders how Alexei got so good at talking to the press.

“I understand that, Mr. Nikiforov, but the description of the young man in question matched the description of the man seen in Detroit with, um, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Shorter by a few inches? Beanie on? A coat?” The reporter nods. “Anything else?”

The reporter sheepishly shakes their head. Alexei smiles. “Imagine, someone wearing a beanie and coat in the middle of winter. Here in Russia, of all places! Unless you can provide photographs, I’m afraid there’s nothing for us to comment on.” Alexei, like Viktor, aggressively smiles at people he’s attempting to avoid verbally eviscerating, and they’re both wearing identical grins now.

One of the reporters more familiar with Viktor’s mannerisms coughs softly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Congratulations on taking gold again, Mr. Nikiforov, your family must be very proud!”

“We are!” Alexei says, beaming. “Viktor works very hard, and it shows in his performances!”

Viktor smiles genially.

“Can you comment on your plans for the next season?”

“I’m currently focused on keeping my skills sharp for the European Championships and Worlds,” he says with grating cheer, “so I’ll refrain from commenting about the upcoming season for now.” Viktor is entirely too _done_ with the press right now, and it must be showing on his face some, because a few of the reporters thank him and leave. The rest go a few seconds later, after Viktor’s accosted by his sister once more. His mothers show up shortly after, smiling proudly as they take turns hugging him.

“You saved me,” he says to his family. He looks at Alexei, smiling. “It’s a lucky coincidence you went out last night, too.”

“Vitka, I was in Yekaterinburg until late.”

“You’ve gotten better at lying,” Viktor says. “You're an archaeologist, how did you get so good at talking to the media?”

“We’ve had a few digs with camera crews. Apparently, I’m the most photogenic person there, so they make me talk to them.” Alexei flashes a wink and a grin.

“With looks like mine, of course you were.”

“Vitka, we’ve gone over this. I’m older, therefore _you_ have _my_ good looks. Not the other way around.”

“Which is why _I’m_ always getting mistaken for _you,_ yes,” Viktor laughs. Alexei pinches Viktor’s side, getting a firm jab in return. Katya giggles as Alexei pulls Viktor into a headlock, ruffling his hair, and Viktor starts poking whatever areas of his brother’s back he can reach.

“Boys,” their Maman chides gently.

They straighten up, adjusting their clothes.

“Maman, Mamulya,” Viktor says excitedly, pulling his family into a quiet area, “I want to introduce you to someone!” His mothers glance at each other, breaking into happy smiles.

“Who?” Mamulya asks. “Is it the young man from Detroit?”

Viktor nods excitedly, biting his lower lip. “He surprised me here! He should be at the hotel soon, we can meet him in my room.”

Maman hugs him. “We'd love to meet him, Vitka!”

“We can take two taxis,” Alexei says. “Vitya and I can ride in one, in case there’s press waiting, and you three can take another. We’ll meet at Vitya’s room?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Viktor says, smiling. He kisses each of his mothers, and hugs Katya, before they go their separate ways.

 

When they arrive, Viktor sends Alexei up to his room, just in case his family made it to the hotel before them. There’s a bench a short ways away from the lobby door, with a clear view of the unloading area. He sits in the cold, watching mist balloon with every breath. Before long, his family gets out of a taxi, all smiles and excitement, looking around for either Viktor or Alexei to show them where they need to go. Jumping to his feet, he rushes over, greeting each of them with a kiss.

Katya chatters away as they make their way upstairs, showing off the autographs she’s gotten from other skaters and wheedling an agreement for one out of Viktor. Glancing at his phone, there’s no sign of a text from Yuuri saying he’s arrived. The hotel room door is cracked when they approach, and as he pushes it open, he has to stifle his laughter. Yuuri is standing with his arms wrapped around Alexei and a confused look on his face. Alexei is looking towards the door, both hands against Yuuri's chest, grinning widely. Apparently, Yuri wasn’t the only one taken off guard.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls out, smiling. Yuuri looks over, before his eyes go even wider and he steps back in shock. He looks between them rapidly, jaw gaping as he tries to figure out what’s happening. His cheeks grow red as he covers his face in shame. “You said you have a brother,” he says, sinking slowly to the floor. “He wouldn’t happen to be your—”

“Twin, yes. We’re identical!” Viktor says, with more cheer than is strictly necessary.

Yuuri groans. Viktor kneels next to him, smiling. Wrapping his arms around Yuuri, he rubs his back in gentle circles.

Alexei kneels next to them both. “Hi, I'm Alexei Nikiforov,” he says in heavily-accented English, holding his hand out. Viktor wonders briefly if his accent is as strong as his brother’s.

Keeping his face buried in Viktor’s shoulder, Yuuri gives it a shake. “Yuuri Katsuki. Pleasure.” He pulls back from Viktor, frowning. “Alexei like Yagudin?”

Viktor laughs, looking at his brother. “Exactly like Yagudin. He once begged me to get Yagudin’s autograph because they share a name.”

“Vitya, of course, can’t do anything by halves and ended up taking us to lunch.” Alexei grins.

“You got your autograph, though.”

“And a picture.”

“And a healthy dose of embarrassment when you laughed hard enough water came out your nose.” Viktor laughs, remembering Alexei sputtering apologies as he offered Yagudin his napkin.

“Shut up, Vitka.” Their banter is light, easy, and familiar.

Yuuri glances between them, standing slowly. “He almost looks just like you,” he says quietly. Viktor looks at Alexei as they straighten up as well. His hair is slightly shorter than Viktor’s, styled so it’s out of his face. He’s a few centimeters taller, loathe as Viktor is to admit it, but not as muscular. The differences end there, for most people. (It’s a rarely-mentioned fact that their mothers used to tell them apart as infants using a method they like to call “Which butt cheek is the birthmark on?”)

Alexei laughs. “The press thinks so, too. You’re not the only one to get us confused, though I have to say, you’re the only person that’s kissed me like that because of it.”

Yuuri leans against him. “That explains so much,” he says, voice muffled against Viktor’s chest. “I’m sorry I tried to make out with your brother.”

“It happens,” Viktor says reassuringly. “One of Lyosha’s ex-girlfriends screamed at him for three hours when she saw me out with a friend of mine.” He remembers it well. She’d only calmed down when Viktor walked in and showed her a selfie he’d taken with the girl that day, wearing the same outfits she’d spotted them in. Needless to say, she wasn’t his brother’s girlfriend for long.

“I thought his name was Alexei?” Yuuri says curiously.

“Lyosha’s a diminutive, like Vitya,” he explains.

Yuuri nods. “Congrats on winning the gold,” he says before his lips brush Viktor’s. The door closes behind them, and Viktor turns quickly. His moms are standing near the entry, still, while Katya has taken over the bed.

“Yuuri! This is my family. My mamulya, Alexandra and my maman, Hilaire.”

Yuuri smiles at them, giving a short bow. “I'm Yuuri Katsuki. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’ve met my brother, obviously,” Viktor says, eyes twinkling as Yuuri blushes further, “and this little pupsik is my sister, Katya.”

“Is this your boyfriend, Vitya?” Mamulya asks as she approaches.

The question causes Yuuri to blush. Viktor looks at him, and Yuuri smiles.

“He is. This is my boyfriend, Yuuri,” he says proudly to his beaming family.

This is everything he’s ever wanted and he’s positively euphoric.

 

~*~

 

They wake in a tangle of limbs, and Yuuri brushes his his lips across Viktor’s with a smile. “Morning,” Yuuri rasps, before laying another kiss on Viktor’s nose.

“Good Morning, Lyubov,” Viktor replies with a sleepy grin.

His hand runs down Yuuri’s side before it comes to rest on his waist, soft skin warm under Viktor’s fingers, and they share a kiss before Yuuri begrudgingly crawls out of bed. He heads into the shower, borrowing Viktor’s soap to avoid getting his own toiletries wet before the flight out. Viktor gets his things together, a pleasant soreness thrumming through his body, and he smiles as he zips up his garment bag.

Yuuri comes out of the bathroom fully dressed, and soon enough his luggage is set up close to the door and he’s bundled up for the cold. Viktor says his goodbyes in the privacy of their hotel room, far from the press, and it’s bittersweet.

“I’m going to miss you,” Yuuri says as he kisses Viktor’s chin.

“I’ll miss you to, Lyubov,” he replies. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Vityusha.”

Viktor’s face heats up when he hears the endearment and he can feel the blush spreading, across his ears, the back of his neck, and the top of his chest and shoulders while Yuuri stands there with the most precious grin.

“Y-you called me Vityusha.”

“I did. Mila suggested it,” Yuuri says with a smile. “Is it ok?” His cheeks are dusted with pink, his eyes shining brightly behind his glasses.

Viktor nods. It’s more than ok. He’d never expected one of the more affectionate diminutives to come out of Yuuri's mouth, what with him not being Russian, but hearing it makes his heart do a quad flip in his chest, and he can’t stop replaying it in his mind. He makes a mental note to thank Mila, maybe he’ll buy her a coffee for their flight back to St. Petersburg. He has another bag to pick up before he heads back to Detroit, so they’ll be sharing the flight out.

Maybe he’ll buy her ten coffees.

Yuuri pulls his head down, planting an affectionate kiss on his lips before leaning against his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave,” he says sadly.

“We’ll be together in Detroit soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder and Viktor has to agree.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri picks Viktor up at the airport the morning of his return, sleep in his eyes and coffee in the cup holder. Viktor waves, smiling, once he’s in the car, before taking the paper bag Yuuri holds up. When he looks inside, his face lights up.

“You got me donuts!!”

“The bakery that supplies us makes the… suf… something, the ones for Chanukkah, and Mila said something about a tradition…” He blushes a bright red.

Setting the donuts on the dashboard, Viktor flings his arms around Yuuri. The center console digs into his side as he kisses Yuuri's cheek, but he can only smile. “I can’t believe Mila told you I buy sufganiyot every year!”

“Well, to be fair, she was complaining you never bought any for her.”

Viktor laughs, sitting back in his seat. “So what’s the plan for today, Lyubov?” He asks as Yuuri pulls into traffic. The Raf Yuuri brought has a couple of extra shots in it, and the bitterness contrasts nicely with the strawberry jam-filled donut Viktor chose.

“I have the day off,” Yuuri says. “I was…I was thinking we could take Makka to the park.” His eyes are fixed on the road as he chews the inside of his bottom lip.

“Of course we can!” Viktor smiles. “Makkachin will love it!”

Yuuri grins, “I thought he might. We could get lunch, too, afterward. Find a place with a heated patio, order something for Makka.”

“It’s a date, then!”

Yuuri blushes, staring at the road. He smiles as he glances at Viktor out of the corner of his eye. Viktor watches with delight as the blush spreads from Yuuri's cheek, to the tip of his nose and ears. Yuuri nods quickly, flashing a shy smile, before turning onto the street for Viktor’s apartment.

 

Makkachin jumps on Viktor happily as he walks through the door, knocking him back and licking his face. Sliding to the floor, Viktor wraps his arms around his dog as Yuuri rummages through the tote bag for the leash and baggies. Makka’s fur is soft against Viktor’s cheek, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder. Raking his fingers through the poodle’s fur, Viktor starts telling him how much he missed him, what a good boy he is. At some point, he switches to Russian, but Yuuri only smiles good-naturedly.

When he finishes greeting his dog, Viktor looks over at Yuuri, smiling. He rummages through his luggage until he finds a brightly-wrapped box. His stop in St. Petersburg allowed him to drop by one of his favorite tea shops, and he’d bought a large variety of teas for Yuuri. When he stands, holding it out, Yuuri's face shifts into confusion before lighting up.

“I know it’s a month late, Lyubov,” Viktor says, “but I wanted to give this to you in person. Happy Birthday.”

Yuuri takes the gift gingerly, smiling. He unwraps it gently, taking care with the paper, and lights up when he sees the neat rows of labeled metal tins inside. “You bought me tea?” He asks. His voice is soft, full of love, and Viktor smiles.

“I did. They’re all of my favorites,” he says, “from one of the best tea shops in St. Petersburg, and I thought you’d like to try them.”

Eyes shining, Yuuri wraps his arms tightly around him. He clings to Viktor in happiness, laying kisses on his shoulder and torso before nestling his head in the crook of Viktor’s neck. After a short while, the box of teas is set aside, almost reverently, and Makka wags his tail happily as his leash is clipped on. Viktor bundles up, hiding his hair under a beanie before offering his hand to Yuuri.

Smiling, Yuuri takes it. “Weather’s been nice, recently,” he says softly.

“That’s good,” Viktor replies. It’s a beautiful day for a walk, the sky crisp and blue and clear. They drop by the café for hot drinks, Yuuri running inside while Viktor holds Makka’s leash. When he comes out, he has a bit of foam on his nose, which Viktor promptly kisses off.

“Did you make them yourself?” He asks with a smile.

Yuuri nods, holding out a cup.

They make their way to a nearby park, sitting close on a bench. Viktor lets Makka off his leash to play, wrapping his newly-freed arm around Yuuri's shoulders. Time passes in a comfortable silence as they watch the wind whisper through the trees.

“I love you, Vityusha,” Yuuri says suddenly. “I just want you to know that.” Blushing and slightly flustered, Yuuri’s eyes shine as he looks out over the park, hair blowing softly in the breeze.

“I do, Lyubov.” Kissing Yuuri's hair, Viktor pulls him closer. “I love you, too.”

Yuuri nods, sighing.

“What brought this on so suddenly?” Viktor asks gently.

He feels Yuuri shrug against him. “I know things haven’t been easy these last few months,” he says slowly, carefully. “This paper’s just…” He trails off, taking a sip of his coffee.

Viktor rubs his shoulder. “It’s ok, Lyubov. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Yuuri snuggles closer to him. “Let’s just enjoy being out together for now,” he says softly. “I like this.”

 

They end up getting lunch at a nearby bistro, Viktor ordering a thick minestrone, while Yuuri gets tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. They trade bites as often as they trade kisses, Makkachin lying contentedly at their feet, and it’s not long before they’ve finished their meal. At times, Yuuri's smiles seem a little too bright, the melancholy in his eyes occasionally too deep to ignore. In response, Viktor hugs him, kisses him, smiles at him more often. His frequent touches become almost constant, and Yuuri seems to take some comfort. They walk back to his apartment with their arms wrapped around each other, Makkachin trotting happily by their side.

Yuuri doesn’t stay long at Viktor’s that evening, barely late enough to watch him light the menorah, and the next day he spends getting everything together for the trip to Hasetsu. He texts Viktor with reminders about what’s needed as far as identification goes, and reassures him several times that he still has the university paperwork.

 

~*~

 

The night before their trip, Yuuri sleeps over. Luggage is piled near the door as Viktor finishes frying latkes, stacking them high on a paper towel-covered plate. Yuuri sits at the table in his pajamas, setting out sour cream and applesauce. At the end of the table, a menorah with the stumps of nine brightly burning candles is surrounded by crumpled golden foil and wooden dreidels. The apartment seems strangely empty, Makkachin having already been delivered to Phichit, but the atmosphere is still warm.

He sets the plate on the table, sitting next to Yuuri with a smile.

“Now, it’s traditional to eat these with applesauce or sour cream. Sometimes both.”

Yuuri makes a face. “Applesauce with potatoes?” he asks as he spoons some onto his plate.

“Trust me, it tastes better than it sounds.” Viktor holds out the sour cream.

“Only a little,” Yuuri says, dropping a dollop on his plate. “I'm lactose intolerant.”

“Doesn’t that mean you can’t have milk and such?” Yuuri nods. Viktor raises an eyebrow. “You put half and half in your coffee. You ate a _toasted cheese sandwich_ a few days ago. You had ice cream with your _cake,_ Yuuri. What do you _mean_ you're lactose intolerant?”

“I don’t know who _you’ve_ been talking to but I don’t know one person who’s lactose intolerant, but not debilitatingly so, who actually completely _stopped_ consuming dairy.”

“So what changed this time?”

“We’re going to be on a plane for fourteen hours,” is all Yuuri offers by way of explanation.

It’s enough to get his point across. Yuuri cuts off a piece of a latke with his fork, dipping it in both the sour cream and the applesauce on his plate. When he puts it in his mouth, his face lights up. “This is good!” he exclaims.

Grinning, Viktor says, “See? I told you!”

Yuuri smiles at him, putting another bite in his mouth. “How do you say ‘delicious’ in Russian?”

“Vkusno,” Viktor says smiling.

“They’re vkusno.” Yuuri eats the rest of two latkes, leaning back as he stares at the third.

“I'm out of sour cream, do you think I could use k-”

“If you say ‘ketchup,’ so help me, Yuuri…”

Yuuri nods and spreads applesauce on the latke. He does the dishes when they’re finished eating, with his sleeves rolled up and rubber gloves on his hands. Viktor steals a few kisses, first when he puts their mugs in the sink, again when he finds a knife on the floor under the dishwasher. A third kiss is stolen when he accidentally bumps Yuuri putting the sour cream and applesauce in the fridge. Yuuri steals the fourth when he hands Viktor a dishtowel, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh are stolen by no one in particular, but lead to contented smiles and happy noises as they press their foreheads together.

The dishes are dried and put away, stacked neatly on the cupboard shelves and the counters and stove are wiped off. Yuuri takes a moment when they finish, slowly looking around the room. Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri from behind, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Everything alright, Lyubov?”

Yuuri nods. “It’s so clean,” he says absently.

Viktor smiles, kissing his jaw. “That's because we just cleaned it.”

“I know that,” Yuuri grouses. He turns in Viktor’s arms, leaning into his shoulder as he hugs him. “Happy Chanukkah, Vitya.”

Kissing the top of Yuuri's head, he murmurs his thanks. They brush their teeth together, hands touching, shoulders brushing against each other. Viktor smiles as he feels Yuuri’s arm around his waist. He moves his free hand to grip Yuuri’s bicep gently. Wiping his chin after spitting out his mouthwash, he pulls Yuuri close.

“I'm so excited, Lyubov,” he says.

Yuuri leans against his chest. “Yeah,” he says softly. Hands gripping the back of Viktor’s shirt, he lifts his head to plant a kiss on his jaw. “Me, too.”

They turn off the lights and crawl under the quilt on Viktor’s bed. Wrapping his arms around Yuuri, he lays a kiss to the top of his head.

“Are you ok, Yuuri?” he asks, “You’re trembling.” Yuuri pulls him closer.

“I’m just cold, Vitya.” Yuuri kisses his chest, tangling their legs together as he sighs softly.

 

Viktor wakes up once that night, jostled by Yuuri tossing and turning. Sleepily wrapping his arms around him, he pulls until Yuuri's body is flush with his own. “I’m here,” he says, though he’s not entirely aware of what language he’s speaking. Yuuri seems to understand, because he sighs gently, snuggling closer.

“I’m here,” Viktor repeats once more, before the world drifts away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Secrets I have **held in my heart**  
>  Are harder to hide than I thought_  
> \- Arctic Monkeys, I Wanna Be Yours
> 
>  
> 
> So this chapter, admittedly, got a log longer than I’d originally planned, and a lot busier, but it’s become one of my absolute favorites.  
> When I started this fic, I planned for chapter goals of 3-5k words (lol). I later planned for around 12k. Needless to say, this 18k monstrosity was not planned for, and I thought I could handle it. I debated splitting it into two parts, but I felt like that break in the story was unnecessary.  
> The next chapter gets a bit heavy, please see the end of the author’s notes for a (slightly spoilery) warning. If you need more information, please feel free to contact me privately on tumblr and I’ll be happy to provide it.  
> Huge thanks to Isis for making sure this wasn’t unintelligible drivel.  
> See you in two weeks!!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  давай, виктор (davai, viktor!) = “go, viktor!” in Russian  
> Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> Я тебя люблю (Ya tevya lyublyu) = “I love you” in Russian  
> Maman = “Mom” in French  
> Мамуля (Mamulya) = “Mom” in Russian   
> Пупсик (pupsik) = “Puppy” in Russian
> 
> _Stammi Vicino, non te andare  
>  Ho paura di perderti_
> 
> Stay close to me, don’t go away  
> I’m afraid of losing you
> 
> From _Stammi Vicino (Aria),_ by Matsushiba Taku and Kudō Kazuma, as seen in Yuri on Ice Episode 1. Viktor absolutely knows all the words, and he absolutely understands what he was saying.
> 
> [Mt. Pilatus in Lucerne, Switzerland,](http://www.luzern.com/en/excursions/pilatus) is home to the world’s steepest cogwheel railway, at the top of which there are cows (among other things). Viktor has not forgotten this.
> 
> “Gosha” is a diminutive for Georgi
> 
> About the other skaters, Kadnikov and Rabrenovich – totally fictional.
> 
> Sufganiyot (singular: sufganiyah) ( סופגניות [sing: הסופגני/הסופגניי]) are round, jelly-filled donuts traditionally eaten on/during Chanukkah.
> 
> Latkes are a potato pancake traditionally eaten on Chanukkah with applesauce, sour cream, or both.
> 
>  **Warning for the upcoming chapter _SPOILER ALERT:_** _Minor character death._
> 
> Again, if you need to know more about the circumstances, please feel free to privately message me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	6. The Crowd Would Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor kneels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Viva La Vida by Coldplay.
> 
> Please, heed the tags.
> 
> This chapter is really heavy, and I’ve put warnings in the end notes to avoid spoilers. If you need more information than what I provide, please feel free to message me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com) and I’d be happy to elaborate as needed.

Viktor wakes to the sounds of the flight attendants moving around the cabin, asking everyone to stow their belongings and put meal trays and seats back up. He looks to his right to see Yuuri gazing steadily out the window. The bags under his eyes are worse than ever, deep purple standing out against unusually pale skin. The shift in his weight causes Yuuri to look at him. Smiling, he kisses Viktor’s nose softly. “Sleep well?”

Viktor nods. “I did! How long was I out?”

Yuuri looks at his watch. “About four hours, this time.” Viktor scrunches his face, causing Yuuri to chuckle. “If it’s any consolation, you mutter adorably when you dream.”

His cheeks grow warm. Stealing a kiss, he moves the back of his chair into its _proper and upright position_ after a stern glare from a flight attendant. Resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder again, he asks, “Have you slept at all?”

Yuuri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I tried. Wasn’t successful.” Viktor smiles as he sees Yuuri use his feet to carefully nudge his carryon under the seat. Grabbing his own bag, he stands to put it back in the compartment above their heads, nestling it against the wall before closing the hatch. He looks around the plane cabin.

It’s impossible to miss the way some gazes linger on him, his hair, his eyes. His obviously foreign way of dressing, given that much of the population seems to prefer more traditional wear if the travel guides and articles he’d read about the country were accurate. Perhaps they actually recognize him. He runs his fingers through his silver locks, smiling as he sees Yuuri rub the back of his own hand with his thumb. Yuuri offers a shy smile in return, and leans softly against Viktor’s shoulder after he sits down, clasping their hands together. Viktor kisses Yuuri’s head through his beanie and settles in for the last of the ride.

They land smoothly at Hasetsu International Airport, and Viktor waits patiently with Yuuri while the rest of the passengers grab their carry-ons and push towards the exits. Once their bags are secured and they’ve made it out of the jetway, Yuuri drops Viktor’s hand and fumbles with his messenger bag. Pulling out his phone, he turns it on, eyes widening as he starts getting notifications. He bites his lip, running anxious fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Viktor practically guides Yuuri through the crowd as he looks at his phone, weaving around families and businessmen alike as they make their way out of the area, and Yuuri’s anxiety only seems to grow while they walk.

Yuuri’s phone rings suddenly, and in his hurry to see who it is, he drops it. Scrambling to pick it up, he freezes, kneeling on the floor. After a second he stands, looking sheepish as the call goes to voicemail. “That was my sister,” he says, voice small. His breath catches in his throat as he stares at the lock screen.

Viktor cups Yuuri’s cheek with his hand. “If you need to call her back, Yuuri, it’s fine. Family is important, I understand. I’ll stay right here, yes? She probably just wants to make sure you’ve landed alright.”

Yuuri nods. Taking a deep breath, he throws his arms around Viktor, nuzzling into his shoulder. Before Viktor can react, Yuuri’s phone is vibrating in his hand again. He takes another deep breath as he lowers his arms, moving a few feet away before answering.

Whatever his sister says makes Yuuri bite his lower lip, nodding quickly several times in rapid succession. He glances over, turning his back to Viktor briefly before whispering quickly, at times harshly, into the handset. He eventually walks back over, hanging up after saying something about the baggage claim. Viktor’s “what’s wrong?” goes unnoticed as he follows Yuuri out of the area.

The airport is open, sun shining through the windows and lighting up the terminal as they head out. There are occasional whispers behind hands, glances that rest too long on Viktor’s hair and face. A few surprised looks tell him he’s not entirely unknown here, and he flashes a smile to people he notices are staring. Security is ever-present, it looks like, with regular airport officers standing alongside people Viktor recognizes as members of the Royal Guard from his pre-trip reading. As they make their way through the airport, Viktor notices cell phones raised in their direction, and he glances nervously at Yuuri while trying to keep a friendly-yet-neutral look on his face. Yuuri keeps his eyes firmly ahead of him when he’s not reading the signs to figure out where to go, seemingly unaware of the scrutiny they’re under. Viktor wraps his arm protectively around him. He hadn’t expected to bring so much attention to them, especially not this early on in the trip.

 _He should have made sure they discussed this._ Swallowing his guilt, he looks around as they navigate the crowd. They walk quickly, weaving around suitcases and strollers and groups of people huddling around available outlets. More photos are taken. Yuuri seems to notice, stands up straighter and schools his face into a more neutral expression. Viktor glances around again. The Royal Guard stands around the perimeter, eyes constantly on him. On _Yuuri,_ he realizes with a start. He looks down at his boyfriend, walking purposefully through the airport with his shoulders back and head held high, and everything starts coming together.

 _Yuuri,_ who’d never cooked for himself before Viktor had taught him, whose past is as much a mystery now as it had been when they met. Who’s a political science major, has money far beyond what his part-time job should be paying, and is walking through the airport as if he owns the place. Lilia had acted strange around him, almost deferential at times _._ In her work, she’s met all sorts of people, has mingled with members of the highest echelons of society. She’d have never acted so oddly around anyone less than… _royalty._

The young Crown Prince of Sachima vanished from the public eye and the palace itself when he was a child, the articles had said. The King hasn’t been seen in public recently, and rumors are circulating that he’s taken ill. The Crown Prince would be taking the throne on the King’s death and to do that, he’d need to come home.

 _“You’ll be going home, soon?”_ Phichit’s words, strangely heavy at the time, echo through the back of Viktor’s mind with new layers of meaning. Yuuri saying he was planning to see his family soon, without even a mention of them before, just after a phone call he _clearly_ wasn’t expecting… The idea is far-fetched, but the pieces are tumbling almost perfectly into place. Grabbing Yuuri’s shoulder, Viktor steers him towards a nearby single-occupancy bathroom. Yuuri nervously glances at the guards, giving one an almost invisible nod, before the door is shut and locked behind them. Keeping his hand on Yuuri’s arm, Viktor backs him to the opposite wall.

“Vitya?” Yuuri says, almost panicked. “Vitya, what—”

“You’re the Crown Prince,” Viktor interrupts. Yuuri’s eyes widen, relief spreads across his face even as it saddens.

“Not for long,” he says softly. “Vitya, we have to… It’s my dad. He’s not—”

Viktor stares at him. He’d half expected laughter, or an exasperated sigh followed by a peck on his nose. Part of him had thought he’d be wrong, that it was too wild a coincidence, but Yuuri’s standing in front of him, face full of sadness and frustration and the edge of an anxiety Viktor’s barely beginning to comprehend, confirming the theory.

_Yuuri is the missing Prince of Sachima._

“Vityusha, I… we have to go to the palace. I’ll explain, I promise, please just don’t- don’t go. Stay with me, Vitya.” Pain and urgency color Yuuri’s voice as he visibly tries to settle himself.

Snapping out of it, Viktor nods. “Of course, Yuuri. Always.”

Rummaging quickly through his bag, Yuuri pulls out what Viktor recognizes as a case for his glasses. Taking them off, Yuuri rubs his eyes before opening the case, putting the glasses inside as he takes something small out, a plastic tray for contact lenses with white and green lids. He washes his hands quickly, before putting the lenses in with surprising finesse. Blinking slowly, he pauses, before closing both cases and slipping them into his bag. With a shaky smile, he looks back up at Viktor.

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “I thought you hated contacts.”

“I do,” Yuuri replies as he straightens his jacket and brushes his bangs under his beanie, “but I’ll be wearing them at functions and I’d rather reduce the chances of being recognized if I’m wearing glasses.”

“Recognized?”

Biting his lip, Yuuri looks Viktor in the eye. “Not… not _right now,_ but in the future. The fewer pictures there are of me with glasses on, the less likely people are to recognize me when I’m wearing them. I’m not exactly… invisible here,” he finishes, looking at the floor as he sighs. Glancing at the exit, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Let’s do this,” he says, walking towards the door.

Yuuri pulls out his phone as they leave the bathroom, pressing a number on speed dial as they walk. Viktor faintly hears the click of the other line, before Yuuri’s speaking.

“Mari,” he says quietly into the handset, “he figured it out. He knows now.” A shriek comes across the line and Yuuri holds the phone a few inches from his ear until it stops. “He figured it out!” He hisses into the phone, “I didn’t- You _know_ what the palace would have done if I’d told him, I wasn’t going to risk him being detained!”

_Detained?_

“He’s not an _idiot,_ Mari, and having the Royal Guard here doesn’t help secrecy, they draw attention as it is!” Yuuri’s whispering furiously, almost angry. They head through the doors into the baggage claim as he rolls his eyes. “Well I’m not going to say I’m not _happy_ he did, but I still didn’t _tell_ him because the stupid _rules_ said I _couldn’t.”_

They stand near the baggage carousel. Yuuri’s eyes constantly flicker towards the crowd growing near the exits. Viktor grabs the first of their bags as it moves past them, while Yuuri sighs. “I can’t believe you guys sent a—” he purses his lips. “Fine. We’re getting our bags now. I’ll be home soon, how’s… how’s dad?” The sharp intake of air and a choked gasp tells Viktor the answer. Yuuri’s face visibly falls before he schools it into a neutral expression, but he chews the inside of his lower lip as he nods at the phone. “I’ll see you soon, Nee-chan. Tell mom and dad… tell them I love them.” There’s a beat of silence, and then he hangs up, tucking his phone back into his messenger bag. Sighing heavily, he grabs one of their suitcases off the conveyor belt as it drifts past.

Bags are coming out of the chute at a crawl, and as they wait Viktor’s eyes move across the unfamiliar airport. Beyond the glass walls he sees a large group of people milling around. Some look in his direction, snapping quick photos on their phones, but the rest are focused on what’s going on outside. They don’t act like the typical airport crowd, searching for whoever’s picking them up or trying to flag a taxi. Instead, cellphones are held high over the throng of people, everyone’s necks craning to see something beyond Viktor’s line of sight. As he glances over the passengers still waiting for their luggage, Viktor sees one of the Royal Guard speaking into an earpiece while staring at him. He looks behind him and sees several more people in the same uniform, all facing his direction. All watching Yuuri carefully. A chill crawls down his spine.

He glances outside, eyes drawn by the flashing lights of a police motorcycle before moving back across the crowd. Viktor does a double take. There’s actually a motorcade pulled up at the curb now, police escorting several limousines with Sachima’s flags on them. That must be their ride. He vaguely wonders if there was ever a hotel reservation, if the trip ever had another purpose.

The admittedly short wait to collect their baggage is nerve-wracking, but as each suitcase makes its way to them, he knows they’re closer to being able to leave. Closer to… whatever happens next. Yuuri is quiet next to him, eyes fixed firmly on the belt, looking over each item as it passes.  When Viktor lays his arm across Yuuri’s back, his hand coming to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder, Yuuri sinks, just barely, into his touch. It’s clear he’s steadily growing more anxious. His back is tense, breathing forcefully regulated as his eyes flick across the conveyor belt, but he holds his head high, keeps his spine straight. Viktor gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. When their last bag is spit out and makes its way to them, Yuuri waits a beat before moving to pull it off. Viktor chances another glance around the room. The guards are still there, still staring. One of them speaks into his mouthpiece as they turn to leave, while the guards further into the airport start moving forward.

He feels Yuuri squeeze his hand and gives a small smile in return. Yuuri stands on his tiptoes and delivers a brief kiss on Viktor’s lips before pulling back, offering a sad smile of his own. Viktor can see the apprehension and longing in his eyes, and it hits him again. Yuuri’s _home,_ now. This is Yuuri’s home country, and if the impression Viktor’s gotten is correct, he’ll be ruling it soon. The air leaves his chest in a rush and for an instant, he’s unsteady on his feet. Constant shifts between shock and pure adrenaline have rendered him numb. Yuuri’s a prince. Yuuri will be king. His entire understanding of the world around him has been turned on its axis in one dizzying revelation, and his mind is reeling in the aftermath.

Yuuri’s visibly anxious, but barely so, and there’s nothing Viktor can do to assuage it beyond the superficial. When Yuuri’s stressed, he relies heavily on his support system back in Detroit, whether it’s going to the rink after hours to skate, or Minako’s ballet studio a few blocks down. Phichit has promised to Skype, but Viktor knows Phichit’s particular brand of comfort is best given in-person, with a cup of something warm and a movie on the television. Usually _The King and The Skater._ None of that is an option, and the severity and sheer _urgency_ of the situation is daunting. He wraps his arms around Yuuri in reassurance. _I’m here. You’re not alone._ After briefly leaning into the hug, Yuuri takes a deep breath, before his need to escape seems to kick in, and he moves towards the glass doors, pulling his luggage behind him.

The chatter grows louder the closer they get to the exit. Yuuri seemingly doesn’t pay attention, but bits of intelligible conversation make their way into Viktor’s ears.

_“-I hear it’s an important diplomat wh-“_

_“-rumor about the Prince returning-“_

_“-and the Queen of England is vis-“_

_“-it could be a celebrity, you never know-“_

 

The chatter turns into an endless roar, and Viktor pushes away his growing nerves to focus on Yuuri’s lumpy beanie, following him through the airport. The crowds are thicker towards the door, bodies moving through and against each other in a suffocating mass. The exit they’d originally headed toward is blocked on both sides now, the crowd on the sidewalk expanding steadily. Yuuri turns abruptly towards a farther exit, shoulders relaxing slightly as they get out of the main group of people. Viktor catches up to Yuuri, grabbing his hand gently.

Yuuri stops, suddenly, and Viktor very narrowly misses hitting his leg with his suitcase. Yuuri stares determinedly at the floor, hands holding tightly to his luggage handles. “Vitya, I… I'm… I’m so _sorry,”_ he says quietly. He glances nervously at the still-growing crowd they've just escaped, then to the guards steadily surrounding them to keep the onlookers away, and back at the floor. Viktor hugs him quickly.

“We’re going to be fine, Yuuri,” he says as reassuringly as he can despite the anxiety coursing through him. “We can talk about things when it’s calmed down.” Yuuri nods, scratches his nose with his sleeve, and turns toward the exit. Taking a moment to breathe, Yuuri moves his shoulders back as he takes on a distinctly regal air, letting himself settle into it like a well-worn jacket before walking determinedly towards the door. They’re met by two uniformed attendants, who, with a bow and a quick “welcome back, Your Royal Highness,” immediately take Yuuri’s luggage from him. Once his messenger bag’s been handed over, Yuuri glances back at Viktor and looks at them expectantly. It seems natural. It feels _wrong._

“Mr. Nikiforov’s as well, please,” he says when no one moves, “since he’s here as my personal guest.” It’s more of an order than a request, and the attendants both bow before the second moves to Viktor.

“I’ll be taking care of your bags, Mr. Nikiforov,” he says curtly. Viktor yanks off his scarf and shoves it haphazardly in his carry-on before handing everything over in a daze. The difference in Yuuri’s demeanor is striking, the authority and expectation in his voice completely at odds with what Viktor’s come to expect. He adjusts his jacket and runs his fingers through his hair, and before he has time to ready himself the doors are opening. The Royal Guard has formed an aisle of sorts for them to walk through towards the waiting limousine, keeping the throng of people at bay. Still, camera flashes go wild as the crowd roars, clamoring to get a good look at the returning prince. As Yuuri passes, each guard lowers their head briefly, waiting a beat before straightening. Viktor walks a few steps behind with his best smile plastered across his face.

When they arrive at the limousine, the driver is waiting at the ready. “Your Royal Highness, welcome home” he says, bowing deeply as he opens the door. He gestures for them to get in, saying, “if it pleases you, Sir.” Yuuri looks up at Viktor, nods at the driver, then turns to face the crowd with a jarringly convincing smile. Standing proudly, he gives a nod and greets the people with a short wave.  

After Yuuri slides gracefully across the seat, Viktor is rushed in with a “please, Mr. Nikiforov, if you don’t mind,” plopping unceremoniously onto the soft leather. The last of the suitcases are loaded into the trunk, and Viktor feels the car shake as the lid slams closed. Yuuri is sitting ramrod-straight in the seat beside him, tense, wide eyes staring anxiously at the partition separating them from the driver while they pull out of the airport.

Viktor leans forward to ask a question but before it leaves his mouth, Yuuri shakes his head, giving a pointed glance at the driver’s seat. He doesn’t want to be overheard. It’s just as well, because as Viktor leans back, the partition slides down. The driver’s face is visible in the rear-view mirror, and he tries to give Yuuri a reassuring smile.

“It must be good to be home, Your Highness.”

Yuuri gives a noncommittal grunt, before seeming to remember himself. “Yes,” he says, “it is.”

“It’s been what, fifteen years?”

“Thereabouts.” Yuuri brushes his hands down his legs in an attempt to steady himself. His face remains neutral, but the way he rubs his thigh with his thumb tells Viktor he’d rather not deal with the driver’s questioning. Viktor reaches over and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. Yuuri gives him a small smile, squeezing his hand in return.

The driver shakes his head, following the police escort through a red light. “Pity the circumstances, though, what with the king falling ill.”

“Indeed.” Each response is more clipped than the last, as Yuuri closes his eyes, taking deep, purposeful breaths while his fingers grip Viktor’s hand. Viktor holds tightly in return, attempting to ground himself as much as he’s trying to comfort Yuuri. They turn down increasingly older streets, buildings more and more traditional as they make their way to the palace. Belatedly, Viktor realizes that cars are pulling to the side of the road, some have people leaning out the windows with cell phones, and he takes a moment to appreciate the heavily-tinted windows of the limo.

They reach a set of ornate gates. _The Royal Palace._ Yuuri swallows thickly, glancing up at the massive building anxious and afraid and his hands start trembling violently. Using his thumb, Viktor does his best to rub reassurance into the back of Yuuri’s hand while trying to slow his own heartbeat. The trip up the brick driveway is short, and the motorcade comes to a stop smoothly but quickly in front of the main entrance to the palace. Viktor barely registers a near-hyperventilating Yuuri scrambling across the seat and getting out of the car before he’s chasing after him.

 

The attendant waiting by the door falls into step with Yuuri, walking just beside him. “Welcome home, Sir,” she says as another shiver crawls up Viktor’s spine, “Her Royal Highness sincerely regrets that she was not able to greet you upon your arrival. A communication error meant she went out front, rather than to the rear entrance. She’s making her way back in to meet you as we speak.” Yuuri nods, heading into an area marked ‘Off Limits’ without a second thought. The armed guards on either side merely bow as he walks through, holding it until Viktor’s passed.

“And my mother?” Yuuri asks. His voice shaking, he takes a subtly deep breath as the attendant continues.

“The Queen has been pulled aside to talk to the doctor, Your Highness. She intends to meet you in the King’s bedchambers once she’s done. It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.” Yuuri nods again, striding through the halls with a dogged determination Viktor’s rarely seen. His heart skips in his chest, leaving him near-gasping as he looks around.

The private wing is no less lavish than the areas open to the public, though it does feel somewhat more intimate. Yuuri, unusually distant, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t slow down they make their way through the corridors. “How have my mother and sister been holding up?” He asks, and for the first time since they left the baggage claim, Viktor can hear the fear thrumming under the surface. His hands itch to take Yuuri’s, to comfort him and reassure him and just hold him close, but he shoves them in his pockets to avoid reaching out. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like it would go over particularly well.

“Word among the staff is they’re doing as well as they can be considering the circumstances, Sir, but I don’t work with them directly, so I’m not able to say. My apologies.” She navigates the hallways easily, Yuuri following just a fraction of a step behind. His demeanor has gone from merely distant to completely aloof, panic at a level Viktor’s never seen in him before. Viktor swallows, taking in Yuuri’s labored breathing and the tears he’s blinking back as his own anxiety throbs in the background and a new wave crashes through him, pulling the air from his lungs as the world spins uncomfortably. He shakes his head, takes a deep breath as tight heat coils in his throat. Save the panic for later. For now, he stays with Yuuri. They turn down a hallway lined with paintings. All apparently of former kings.

Pulling off his beanie and shoving it in his pocket, Yuuri glances around and Viktor follows his gaze to the curtained painting at the end. The current king and Yuuri’s father, it seems. Subtly wiping a tear away, Yuuri takes one terrified glance back in Viktor’s direction before steeling himself as they come before an ornate set of double doors, held open by two attendants waiting with a low bow. Yuuri breaks into a jog, disappearing through a throng of people moving quickly around the center of the room. Viktor himself enters, following Yuuri through what looks like a sitting area before he reaches a bedroom, eyes immediately drawn to a large bed in the center.

 

A frail, middle-aged man is propped up at the head of the bed, pillows dwarfing his gaunt frame. Machines surround him, blood pressure monitor slowly but steadily beeping. An IV pole lays abandoned but ready in the corner, and a group of doctors stand to the side. Yuuri is seated on the edge of the bed, holding the man’s hand and leaning close to him, speaking in a low voice. Tears are gathering at the corners of his eyes, and Viktor can hear strained whispers, the words “I missed you so _much,”_ as Yuuri chokes back a sob. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yuuri leans over his father, hushed voices filling the room. Silence descends as Yuuri shifts position, nervously smoothing his t-shirt and jeans, coat askew and hair sticking up all over the place.

The steady, slow chirp of the machinery turns abruptly into an extended tone, lines on the screen going flat. Doctors surround the bed as Yuuri moves swiftly aside, whispering and gesturing quickly amongst themselves. One does chest compressions, while another presses their index and middle finger to the king’s wrist, and then the side of his neck. It’s only when the doctors turn off the machine and step back from the bed, shaking their heads that Viktor realizes what’s happened. He looks quickly towards Yuuri. Panic and horror and despair flash briefly across Yuuri’s face, quickly hidden behind a somber expression. Viktor looks back at the bed, the late king still propped up against his pillows looking, for all the world, like he’s merely sleeping.

He turns his gaze back to Yuuri. To most people in the room, Yuuri is the picture of composure, back straight, eyes open, face set with grim determination, but Viktor sees the slight tremor in his hands, the carefully controlled breathing. His glistening eyes are just a bit wider than normal, teeth subtly worrying the inside of his bottom lip. It’s clear to Viktor that Yuuri is most definitely _not_ okay. Already pale, Yuuri turns a ghastly shade of white as a voice rings throughout the room.

“The king is dead! Long Live the King!”

A chorus of voices respond, “Long Live the King!”

The next thing Viktor knows, everyone in the room drops to one knee, save himself and Yuuri. As a palace attendant pulls him down, forcing him to kneel, Viktor sees another flicker of pain in Yuuri’s eyes.  He doesn’t have time to figure out what’s going to happen next before a flurry of activity begins. Palace staff move around and between them frantically, and Viktor is pushed further and further towards the edge of the room. As Yuuri is swept away by a group of stone-faced guards, he looks back at Viktor, pleading with wide eyes, _stay, please, I can explain._

_Please don’t leave me, I need you._

Viktor feels a hand grasp his arm, and barely registers himself moving as an attendant guides him through the maze of hallways that make up the palace.  He’s led into a lavish apartment with sitting area with a desk, table, and fireplace. Near the hearth is a door to a large bedroom holding a plush four-post bed. Another door goes off the bedroom, likely a bathroom. His luggage is already placed neatly by the bed, scarf he’d yanked off folded and laid gently on a pillow. Viktor’s apartment in St. Petersburg is nice, but this? This is a different level entirely. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s truly in over his head.

“Please remain in your chambers until His Royal Majesty sends for you,” the attendant says sharply.

Viktor turns around, a million questions on his tongue, only to see the door slide shut, latch clicking with a grim finality.  His mouth opens and closes as he stands there, eyes wide, trying to sort out what just happened.

_Yuuri’s father just died._

_Yuuri’s father was the King._

_Yuuri was the Crown Prince._

_His shy, anxious barista boyfriend… is the new King of Sachima._

 

He paces frantically around the room, glancing at his phone often enough that time seems to crawl agonizingly slowly. An hour later, Viktor is carefully examining the ornate clock on the mantle, silently willing the hands to move faster. His phone shows no new notifications, his near-desperate texts to Yuuri remaining unread. He’d given up on calling after the fourth time he got Yuuri’s voicemail. He takes another lap around the room, pausing to look out the floor-length windows near the bed. Snow falls quietly outside, dusting the palace grounds with a glittering, pristine layer. Viktor holds his hands against the window panes, finding comfort in the chill leaking in from outside. The atmosphere is suddenly entirely too stuffy, and his breath catches in his throat. He looks for a latch, any latch on the window, to provide relief, to fill his lungs with anything but the suffocating warmth of the bedroom. In his quest for fresh air, Viktor discovers a handle, and pushing it down, a door opens to the private balcony.

He walks across the stone to the railing, brushing snowflakes off quickly to provide a place to rest his arms. The full moon provides plenty of light, throwing the palace into sharp relief against the dark sky. Millions of stars glitter overhead, cold, echoing the snow on the ground. Closing his eyes, he leans over the edge of the balcony, taking deep breaths of fresh winter air. The cold wakes him up, grounds him, but provides none of the answers Viktor seeks.

Another question works its way out of the depths of Viktor’s subconscious, bringing with it an icy, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Was anything we had real?_

He does his best to will the feeling away. He walks back inside, leaving the door ajar. Removing his jacket in the still-warm room offers a sense of relief, and he drapes it across the back of an armchair near the empty fireplace. Kicking his shoes off near the entrance, he spies a pair of plush, embroidered slippers. Shrugging, he puts them on. The top buttons of his shirt are undone to the collar of his sweater, giving him more room to breathe.

A knock sounds at the door. Viktor opens it to see a man with a cart.

“I have brought your dinner, Mr. Nikiforov, at the request of His Royal Majesty.”

Dumbfounded, Viktor can only stare as he pushes the small cart past him. Viktor watches as a small tureen is taken off and set on the table, next to it a bowl of rolls. A matching porcelain soup bowl is placed in front of one chair, silverware next to it, and the attendant ladles a hearty stew into the bowl. Ladle returned to the tureen, and the lid put on, the attendant rolls the now-empty cart to the door and turns with a short bow.

“Is there anything else you require?”

“Some answers would be nice,” Viktor bites out.

“I’m unable to do that, sir, though I understand the king intends to summon you at his earliest convenience. Is there anything else you need, Mr. Nikiforov?” His voice is unaffected, cool and detached, and his face betrays no emotion.

“Where’s Yuuri?”

“I’m unable to give any further information sir, if there’s nothing else, I will take my leave. Someone will be in later to collect the tableware.” He heads out the door before turning, giving a short bow, and shutting it firmly behind him.

Viktor sits at the table. The rolls are soft, still warm, and there’s a small, chilled dish of butter next to them. He rips one in half, dipping it into the stew before taking a bite. His stomach growls, and he tucks in. His phone is silent on the table next to him while he eats. No matter how often he glances at it, there are no new notifications. Not from Yuuri.

 

Dinner finished, he stacks the dishes on the corner of the table and busies himself with the selection of teas next to an electric kettle on the desk. Many of the teas available are unfamiliar, but Viktor finds an Earl Grey that smells good, and turns on the kettle.

He’s staring at the empty fireplace, lost in thought, when the beeping kettle indicates the water is boiling. After dropping the tea bag in and filling the cup, there’s another knock on the door. Opening it, he sees another attendant with a cart.

“I’m here to collect the dinner dishes, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The attendant shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, “but we’re unable to comment on anything at this time.”

“I’m not a journalist, for fuck’s sake, I’m – “

“Regardless, sir,” she says with a bow, “it’s not my place. We have our orders. If you’ll allow me to collect the dishware?”

Viktor lets her in with narrowed eyes, watching as she starts clearing the table.

“Why can’t you comment?” He asks, almost angrily. “Why can’t I talk to Yuuri? Can you at least tell him I want to see him?”

The attendant looks at him as she puts the tureen on the cart next to the rest of the dishes. “I’ll be sure your request is put through the proper channels.” Pulling out a cloth, she wipes down the table, leaving it as spotless as it was when Viktor arrived.

“Can you ask him directly?”

“I don’t have access to His Royal Majesty, sir, I just work in the kitchens. I’ll put your request in, though.” She pushes the cart towards the door.

“Is he ok? At least tell me that much, is…is Yuuri ok?”

“His Majesty is in meetings right now, Mr. Nikiforov. There’s much to be done, in light of the late king’s death. I can’t say anything beyond that, sir, my apologies.” She bows again, quickly, before vanishing out the door.

 

He settles on the couch a few minutes later, sipping his tea in a desperate bid to calm his nerves. Things start to make more sense, the more he thinks about them, but he still doesn’t _understand._ He knows what’s going on, if barely, but the circumstances that led to this point are as shrouded in mystery as ever. Pulling out his phone, he brings up Google. A quick search of “sachima secret prince” brings up hundreds, _thousands,_ of articles about the “Exiled Prince.” It’s a press moniker, but there’s little information of value about the circumstances of the prince’s disappearance. Viktor wades through conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory, UFO abductions vie for attention with celebrity secret identities and kidnapping plots. There’s an impressively extensive article “proving” he’s been killed and has been cryogenically frozen for years. It’s all useless for Viktor’s purposes. There is plenty of tabloid speculation, but it all runs in circles and gives the same exact information.

Searching “sachima royal family prince” gets him better results. Here, there are more articles about the family as a unit. Every article stops mentioning him in-depth after the age of seven or so. One says only that he left under mysterious circumstances, others that he went into hiding. The royal family has been incredibly tight-lipped about his whereabouts, only confirming, on occasion, that the prince is alive and doing well.

The pictures in the articles are all of a serious-looking child with a small layer of baby fat. “ _Yuuri,”_ he thinks, and there's a sharp pang in his gut. Scrolling shows him pictures of a young, fresh-faced Yuuri meeting dignitaries, playing with the children of world leaders… It almost seems an impossibility. He taps one of Yuuri looking up at an older man with a smile, holding his hand while a parade passes by. Searching the page for a caption, he reads:

_HRM King Toshiya of Sachima on a rare trip out and about with his son, HRH Crown Prince Yuuri, who is fascinated by New Year’s celebrations in the capital city of Hasetsu (January, 1996)._

 

It’s hard to see Yuuri as anyone but, well, _Yuuri._ _His_ Yuuri, who makes the best coffee in the world and jokes with his roommate, who watches every one of Viktor’s competitions without fail and gets flustered at the oddest times. His Beloved, who’s charming and sweet, and tries his best to cook, and is the sort of combination of adorable and beautiful Viktor’s not entirely sure should be legal. Yuuri who pole dances when he’s drunk and turns into a burrito when he’s anxious, who brings bagels and coffee over when Viktor is injured and walks his dog, and who randomly quotes _The King and the Skater_ because he’s seen it more times than he can count, even if it’s nowhere near his favorite movie for any reason beyond the sentimental. Viktor’s Yuuri stays up too late to just beat _that one boss_ before he sleeps (or goes to straight to work) and seems to subsist entirely on takeout, tea, and coffee.

But then, the more he thinks about it, the easier it is to see bits and pieces of what was hiding under the surface. Things as small as his lack of cooking experience and the awkward hesitation he always has just before telling Viktor something about his childhood make a startling amount of sense, as does how he carries himself. Yuuri, when he allows himself to, moves through the world with grace and formidable determination and confidence, at the same time unfailingly kind and thoughtful and generous. Sometimes, though, he just has this _air_ about him. A presence that commands attention in and of itself – without relying on showmanship – and a tone of voice that’s used to being heard. It’s suddenly very easy to see Yuuri in this life, and Viktor can’t figure out if that makes things better or worse.

He’s brought abruptly back to reality when his lips are met with a shock of cold liquid. Staring down at the teacup he’s holding, he frowns. Setting the cup and saucer on the coffee table, he adjusts his position so his head rests comfortably on one arm of the couch, ankles crossed and resting on the other. Placing his phone on the coffee table next to his unfinished tea, he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling as exhaustion washes over him.

He _knows_ Yuuri loves him, he does.

He’s madly infatuated with Yuuri, himself.

But how much of that infatuation is based on a lie? He feels a lump form in his throat. His chest tightens as he swallows the tears threatening to spill over. Intuition tells him that he _does_ know Yuuri, the _real_ Yuuri, and that the somber dignity he’d seen earlier was the mask, but there’s a small part of him that can’t help but wonder. Yuuri had slipped so easily into the role, so perfectly into the authority and bearing required by his station, but there was nothing to cause Viktor to think Yuuri was anyone but who he'd said— _implied_ —he was.

There is nothing to lead him to think Yuuri’s affection, his love, has been anything but genuine, but how much does that truly mean in light of what he’s learned?

He’s been lied to before, used as a stepping stone to prestige or for someone’s fifteen minutes of fame by colleagues, friends, and romantic partners on more occasions than he likes to admit, and each time had hurt as much as the first until he’d stopped trusting people entirely. And now he’s given his heart away to a man he thought he knew.

A sob is ripped from his chest as he claps his hands over his mouth, tears streaming down his face.

Yuuri is _royalty._

Yuuri could potentially have any suitor he wants.

Yuuri has known who Viktor was from the _second he laid eyes on him._

Does he want his Vitya, or does he want the additional prestige of being with four-time World Champion, Olympic Gold Medalist _Viktor Nikiforov?_

 _“It wouldn’t be the first time,”_ he thinks bitterly, and although there’s still a part of him that believes Yuuri would never do that, a far greater part reminds him that when it comes to Yuuri, he knows nothing. He curls up on his side, back towards the rest of the room, and lets the tears run down his face unhindered until he’s swept into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Listen as **the crowd would sing**  
>  Now the old king is dead, Long Live the King_  
> \- Coldplay, Viva La Vida
> 
> I’m so sorry!!
> 
> This chapter was really where TNOT started, where everything began, and I am so stoked that it’s finally time to publish! And now we know what’s going on with Yuuri!!!
> 
> The upshot of this chapter being published is that I can finally (finally!!!!) post a lot of the side stories I already have written!! Keep an eye out next Monday for Yuuri’s PoV starting when they were separated and continuing through the night, and later for updates to both Closets _and_ the currently-unnamed Yuuri PoV, including Yuuri at Russian Nationals and some stuff from when he was younger.
> 
> **Update: All This And Heaven, Too (Yuuri’s PoV) is now live. His side of what happened post separation can now be found in Chapter One: The Precipice of Change. You can expect a second, far shorter chapter one week after the publication of TNOT Chapter Seven, as well as a near-simultaneous update for Closets.**
> 
> **Special thanks to Isis andRiki for their attention and dealing with me freaking out about a near-complete rewrite of things, especially with it being a very last-minute YOLO decision. You’re both incredible, and I’m glad it came out better than it went in.**
> 
> ****Translations:**  
>  Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian**
> 
> ****Warning for this chapter: Minor character death - parent. (Not graphic)** **
> 
> **You can find me on tumblr at[@we-call-everything-katsudon](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)**


	7. All The People Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Gasoline by Halsey.

Short, light knocks on the door rouse Viktor from his slumber. He sits up, shivering, rubbing his swollen eyes blearily. His phone is dead on the table next to his forgotten tea, but the clock on the mantle over the now-empty fireplace reads 6 am. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs. He puts his phone on the charger, turning it on, and after another, more urgent series of knocks, makes his way across the room. He stops in front of the door, taking a deep breath, ready to demand answers from whichever unfortunate attendant is on the other side.  Pulling the door open quickly, he opens his mouth as well, only to stop short when Yuuri squeezes his way into the room and closes the door firmly behind him, yanking off his shoes before he comes to stand in front of Viktor.

As haggard as Viktor feels, Yuuri looks much worse. He’s in fresh, traditional clothing, with loose black pants tucked into boots and a deep blue kimono-style shirt with silver embroidery up one side. Rather than disguising Yuuri’s fatigue, it almost emphasizes it. Dark circles frame Yuuri’s eyes, gaunt cheeks making him look almost skeletal. Hands twisting around each other quickly, Yuuri manages impeccable posture while still seeming, somehow, to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Trembling, Yuuri looks lost, almost disoriented, and when Viktor opens his arms, it takes a second before Yuuri falls into them. Hands gripping the fabric of Viktor’s sweater, Yuuri clings desperately as the trembling grows stronger.

A high, keening whine emerges from his throat, followed by choked sobs. His body shakes, face buried in Viktor’s shoulder. A lump forms in Viktor’s throat again. He tightens his embrace, pulling Yuuri closer to him, trying to tell him he’s safe even as Viktor’s words fail him. Feeling helpless to stop the tears, he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

He can help when it’s Yuuri’s anxiety. He can help when Yuuri’s caught up in a movie or show, or just having a bad day. But he has no real experience with grief like this. He can’t stop the tidal wave of emotions, and any platitudes he can come up with never make it past the planning stage.

Viktor’s never been good with people crying, even for trivial reasons, but now the man he loves has lost his father and gained the expectations of, and responsibility for, an entire country in the span of one night. A country he hasn’t seen in years.

_How do you comfort someone after that?_

After a few long minutes, Yuuri’s crying slows down to choked sobs punctuated by hiccups. He makes small noises into Viktor’s neck, and it takes Viktor a few seconds to understand them for the words they are.

An unending stream of _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant for this to happen I love you so much and I’m so sorry, he’s gone, I haven’t seen him in over a decade I couldn’t-I’m so, so sorry Vitya, my Vityusha_ bubbles from Yuuri’s throat. His shoulders start shaking again and Viktor pulls him tighter. He hates that _this_ is what’s reassuring, that Yuuri’s anxiety, Yuuri’s _emotions_ are what tells him it’s real rather than the months they’ve been together.

“Yuuri,” he says gently. Yuuri looks up at him, face blotchy and wet and _terrified_. “Yuuri, I’m not just going to run away, I won’t abandon you like this.”

Tears well up in Yuuri’s eyes, running down his cheeks. Viktor rubs his back as he keeps hugging him.

They’re interrupted by sharp rapping on the door.

Yuuri nods for Viktor to answer it as he busies himself wiping off his face. He blows his nose softly, discarding the tissue, and as he takes a deep breath, Viktor sees an eerie calm come over him, his face molding itself into one of somber determination. A shudder crawls up Viktor’s spine.

When Yuuri nods, Viktor lets the attendant in.

“Your Majesty,” the attendant starts, and Viktor doesn’t miss Yuuri twitch beside him. “The chef would like to know what you and Mr. Nikiforov would like for your breakfasts.”

Yuuri requests oatmeal for himself and strong coffee, and Viktor orders eggs and toast. The attendant nods and gives a small bow, closing the door as they back into the hall.

Yuuri shudders as Viktor wraps his arms around him. “I’m never going to get used to that,” he says shakily. Viktor looks at him, vaguely puzzled. “Y-your Majesty. That’s,” Yuuri’s voice catches in his throat, “that’s always been my father’s title. For as long as I can remember, almost. It never really hit me it was going to be mine.” He curls into Viktor’s hug. “I’m not ready for it to be mine,” he chokes out around a sob.

Viktor tightens his embrace, pulling Yuuri as close as he can. “May his memory be a blessing,” he says softly. He rests one hand on the back of Yuuri’s head, pressing his lips against the mop of black hair in front of him. They stay like this, for a while, taking comfort in each other’s arms. Viktor whispers a litany of reassurances into Yuuri’s hair, _I’m here, you’re not alone, I’ve got you._ It takes a while for the crying to subside, and Yuuri’s just cleaning up in the bathroom when the food is delivered by a pair of attendants, one of whom lights a new fire to warm the room.

When Yuuri comes out, Viktor’s sitting at the table. Yuuri sits opposite him, pouring a cup of coffee before meeting Viktor’s gaze. He bites his lower lip. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I'm sorry,” he says abruptly. “Vitya, I'm so, _so_ sorry, I never meant for it to happen like this.” His mug trembles in his hands as he takes a sip. “I never- this wasn't how you were supposed to find out, they wouldn’t let me _say_ anything, the security team, they—”

“They wouldn’t let you tell me?” Cold anger seeps into his voice, and Yuuri looks up at him, almost scared. “Yuuri,” Viktor says gently, and he can’t help but think of the pain, the melancholy, the sheer _guilt_ he’s been seeing on Yuuri’s face with increasing frequency, “is _this_ why you’ve been so stressed?”

Yuuri nods, relieved. “I tried, Vitya, especially over the last couple of months,” he says barely above a whisper. Eyes fixed on the table in front of him, he rubs his thumb along the handle of his mug. “I _tried,_ and they kept saying _no_ and I couldn’t… if I’d told you without them saying I could I…” Taking a shuddering breath, Yuuri bites his lower lip as he meets Viktor’s eyes. “If I’d said it the airport, they might have detained you. I don’t know how they’d have justified it or how long it would have lasted, but they’d have made a fuss. Before, though… if I’d told you they would have made me move. Change identities. You wouldn’t have seen me again, they’d have made sure of it.” He pushes his oatmeal around in the bowl, adding milk and brown sugar before mixing it up.

He’s left stunned as the gravity of Yuuri’s situation over the past few months hits him. “So this… this entire time, you’ve…”

“Vitya, I promise, I tried. I fought with them every day for _weeks_ to rush it through, and they kept having issues of some sort or another, and I couldn’t… I debated telling you in secret. I _wanted_ to, but there’s… My movements have been controlled and tracked by a security team,” he says, “ever since I left home. They’ve had an agent in every city I’ve lived in, in case of emergency, but I had no _idea_ who they were. They could have been my boss, a customer, a random worker at the university… it could have been _anyone,_ Vitya, even your next-door neighbor, and after I’d told them I wanted to tell you they would have been watching. Scrutinizing everything for some sign that you knew and I couldn’t risk it.”

“You didn't trust me?”

“I _did,_ but that wouldn't have mattered to _them_ if they suspected I might have told you. You're a public figure, Vitya. A slip-up from you, even a small one, could have been disastrous.” His lip trembles as a tear runs down his cheek. “I love you so much. I was so scared of losing you, Vityusha. Terrified. I was already losing my dad, and my life in Detroit. I was _happy_ for the first time in _years._ I didn’t want this to end before it had to.”

“You assumed I was going to leave?”

Yuuri looks down, curling in on himself further. “Vitya, this… this is a _lot._ I… I didn’t necessarily assume, but it was safer to plan for that rather than assuming you were going to _stay.”_

“Is it even possible to make this work, Yuuri? Can we do it?” he asks, searching Yuuri’s face for an answer. Yuuri takes a bite of oatmeal and chews, before swallowing and setting his spoon down.

“I… I don’t know. I want to. I think we could, I just don’t know what obstacles there are.”

“What do you mean?”

Yuuri takes another bite, swallowing quickly. “I… In the entire history of my family no one’s ever married a commoner, and I don’t know if that’s because there’s a law against it, or if it’s just highly frowned upon. My mother was a lower-born noble and my dad had a hell of a time getting people to approve of them.” Taking a sip of coffee, Yuuri lets his eyes scan over Viktor. “That, and you’re foreign. It’s one thing for common citizens to marry foreigners but god forbid a _royal_ do it. Potential legal ramifications aside, Vityusha, there’s a lot that comes with this. A lot more risk, too.”

“What kind of risk?” Viktor leans forward, getting to work on his breakfast as well.

“I was… when I was seven there was an assassination attempt that almost worked,” Yuuri says, “which is why I was sent out of the country for fifteen years. I was hiding. We were trying to keep me safe.” His tone is strangely matter-of-fact, and he frowns at his oatmeal, adds more sugar, and sighs. “So there’s… there’s that. And a lot more responsibility. We’d have to make appearances, you’d have to show up at court with me sometimes, get good with titles and everything. You have to use mine, by the way,” he says as he turns red. “Not here, not in private, but in front of the staff, for now, and especially in front of literally anyone else.”

“Your family?”

“It depends on the situation. In private, no, and I imagine they’ll allow for less formal forms of address as well. When you meet them later, use my title until I… give you… permission,” he says quietly. “You’re going to need my permission for a lot of things, as far as court is concerned.” Biting his lower lip, his eyes scan the table in front of him. “If we play our cards right and your approval is good, we’ll have a stronger chance, especially if there are legal issues. Social acceptance will come with time, and I’ll have to work on that from the beginning.”

Viktor nods, chewing his toast.

“I figure…” Yuuri trails off, frowning as he takes a sip of coffee. “So much of dealing with titles is knowing when to use them, so here’s a system. If I call you Mr. Nikiforov that’s ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘King’ absolutely. If it’s Viktor, use titles in front of people you don’t know, outside of the staff. If it’s Vitya, you can call me whatever you want.”

“Makes sense,” he replies. “Yuuri?” he says, getting a hum in response. “Did Lilia know? At Nationals?”

Leaning back, Yuuri nods. “She did. I asked her not to tell, since the Palace hadn’t approved of you knowing. Minako-sensei… my teacher from Detroit, she originally worked here with me and came out to teach etiquette and social skills and help prepare me to take the throne. She asked Madame Lilia to help me out as a favor, as a normal student, of course, because she assumed if Madame Lilia didn’t figure it out, she’d do it as a favor to Minako-sensei. If she did, her close relationship with my family would keep her from telling anyone. It was a safe bet. I wasn’t going to tell her, but she recognized my scar,” he says as he rubs his forearm. “The one from the goose bite. It normally… This is my day-to-day wardrobe here.” He holds up his arms in demonstration, the fitted sleeves staying put while the bell sleeves of the kimono-style shirt fall to his elbows, “and it has been since I was a child. This means most people who weren’t close staff and family had never seen my arms. So I never thought to cover the scar. I never _needed_ to. Problem was, she was there when I got it. When I got injured, Minako-sensei was the one to patch me up, and Madame Lilia was there talking to me to distract me. She knew who I was the instant she saw my arm.”

“She was acting strange around you.”

“She really tried not to,” he says around another bite of oatmeal, “seriously. You should see how she treats me next time she comes to court.”

“She bent over backwards to keep you as far away from press as possible,” Viktor replies, “she wouldn’t do that even for us unless the situation was _really_ bad.” That hardly seems like normal behavior for her on the best of days.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says softly. “I was a Crown Prince. You have to understand, she’s only ever treated me with the respect the title requires. She’s curtsied to me before, and I was like, six. In Russia, she was calling me by name, _any_ name, and not reacting when everyone was doing their thing with me, save the bit with Yuri. Trust me, she was trying.” At this point, he really has no choice but to believe Yuuri. So much of what he knows is being rewritten in his mind, his perception of his world changing drastically.

“Phichit knew too,” Viktor says, voice heavy, “didn’t he? He knew what he was asking when he asked if you were going home.”

Nodding, Yuuri sighs. “He’s known since about… six months after we moved in together. They took a week to do his background check, which… I’d expected to be able to tell you long before now, Vitya. I thought I’d have a few weeks with that timing but it took… unusually long for them to process your paperwork. Anyway he had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, so he couldn’t tell you. I… thought about that option, too.”

“Celestino?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “Ciao Ciao has- _had_ no idea. I’m sure he’s found out by now. It was just my bodyguard, Minako-sensei, and Phichit that knew, aside from the nameless agent-person.” Leaning forward, he squares his shoulders. “Vitya, I know you have a lot of questions. I do. And I know there’s a lot we have to figure out I just… right now…” He takes a hitched breath, swallowing new tears. “I just can’t, right now. I can’t. We- we’re having the funeral for my father tomorrow and- and the day after that is my coronation,” voice breaking as he reigns in his grief, he shudders. “Today I have to make announcement speeches and meet with some of the department heads from different areas of the government, and the nobility, and then I have fittings later, for clothes, I need an entire new wardrobe and the event outfits have to be tailored and—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says as he reaches across the table. Yuuri doesn’t look at him, but takes shuddering breaths, hands in his lap as he tries to calm himself. “Yuuri,” he says again, “I understand. There’s a lot happening. We’ll have time to talk when everything’s done.” Disbelieving, Yuuri looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll have time to figure out what we’re up against in terms of laws and stuff, and we can discuss that, too. Get all the talking out of the way at once, when you’re not so pressed for time.”

Yuuri nods, reaching out to take Viktor's hand. “I’ll set aside a day. You… after all of _this,_ especially, you deserve to get a thorough explanation.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he replies fondly. “Let’s just get through the next few days, Lyubov.”

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri nods again. “After the coronation, Vitya.”

“After the coronation,” Viktor repeats.

Glancing at his watch, Yuuri takes another shaky breath before blowing his nose, depositing the tissue in a nearby trash can.

“I should leave, soon. I’ll have someone give you a tour, okay? You can get a feel for the layout of the palace. There might be cute pictures of me around, I haven’t checked. I’ll see you for lunch?” He wipes at his face, takes a deep breath, and sighs.

Viktor nods. “That sounds good.”

“If you need anything, Viktor, let them know,” he says. “They’ll take care of it, get it figured out. If they give you trouble, tell them to talk to me directly. I'll get it sorted.”

They stand, and after Yuuri's pulled his boots back on, Viktor pulls him into his arms. “Yuuri,” he says softly, “lyubov moya.” Yuuri turns to face him, placing his hand on his chest.

“Yes, Vityusha?”

“One last question before you go?” Viktor runs his fingers️ down Yuuri’s cheek.

“Anything,” Yuuri says, breathy and quietly radiant in the morning light.

Viktor smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “Why did you use your real name if you were in hiding? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?”

Yuuri scowls, before letting out a short laugh. “We thought it would be a good idea for me to get used to being called ‘Yuuri’ again, and it’s a pretty common name. Not distinctive at all. I used completely fake names at the start.”

“And at the end?” Viktor asks curiously.

“Katsuki’s an assumed name, though I _am_ fond of it, I've been using it since high school. I don’t actually _have_ a family name.” Kissing Viktor, his sigh is a mix of happiness and dread. “I have my phone now, it was in my bag last night and I couldn’t figure out where they put it, sorry, but I _have_ it now so I should… hopefully be able to text. Depends on what I can get away with.”

Chuckling, Viktor pulls him closer. “Don’t get in trouble on my account,” he says, before kissing Yuuri’s nose.

“What’re they going to do? Yell at the king?” Yuuri grins, but something makes his face fall. He sighs. “Probably, actually. I need… I need to impress them, make them see me as an actual _monarch._ I’ll try to text on breaks, Vitya, but otherwise I won’t be available.”

“I understand, Lyubov,” Viktor says, kissing his forehead. “I understand. Do what you need to do.”

Arms tighten around Viktor as Yuuri nods.

“I love you, Vitya,” he says as he pulls back.

Viktor kisses him then, a peck on the nose and each cheek. Smirking, he pulls out his favorite lip balm. Dipping his finger in the small tub, he applies it gently to Yuuri’s lips watching the blush spreads across his cheeks. When Viktor finishes, Yuuri habitually rubs his lips together, smacking them once. Viktor holds out the container.

“Here,” he says. “Your lips are chapped, you need to take care of them.”

With a shy smile on his face, Yuuri kisses him before excitedly putting it in a pocket. “It’s almost like kissing you,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Viktor replies with a smile, “I love you, Yuuri.” They share a moment resting their foreheads against each other, only parting when Yuuri’s alarm rings. He pulls the phone out of the flap on his chest, silencing it with a sigh.

“I love you too,” he says fondly. “I’ll see you for lunch.” Viktor watches as the love of his life takes a deep breath, steels himself, and walks out the door.

 

~*~

 

When he’s coming out of the shower, Viktor’s phone goes off on its charger. He glances at it, tempted to ignore what seems to be the start of a deluge of questions, but decides otherwise when he sees Phichit’s name.

 

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<    i just saw the news.**  
** <<<   are you ok? please tell me yuuri told you before you got there. **

**To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I figured it out just after we landed.**  
**> >>   He explained why, I’m not mad at him.**  
**> >>   It’s just a lot to take in.**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   have you seen him in Royal mode yet?**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   Yes. Just before we left the airport.**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   it’s weird, huh? seeing him like that?**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I thought you’ve known for years?**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   yea but most of the time it felt like it wasn’t real?**  
**< <<   his bodyguard used his title and such, so i kinda saw it when she was over**  
**< <<   it was p casual, but still there**  
**< <<   but at the same time**  
**< <<   it was like you *say* you’re a prince **  
**< <<   but you drive a chevy and wrap yourself in a blanket**  
**< <<   shovel reheated takeout down your throat like a gremlin**  
**< <<   and play video games all night and complain about being tired at work**  
**< <<   so regal. such dignity. wow.**

 

Viktor snorts. He towels off his hair, pulling on nice jeans and a sweater before letting himself fall onto the couch while he waits for whoever’s going to be giving him a tour.

 

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   he wanted to tell you, you know. i did too**  
**< <<   his bodyguard reminded me i’d signed an nda**  
**< <<   and he didn't want to risk you **  
**< <<   i honestly would have told **  
**< <<   but if the palace found out…**  
**< <<   i couldn’t make yuuri go through this alone, you know?**  
**< <<   are you doing ok though? what’s going on? yuuri's not answering his texts**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I’m ok.**  
**> >>   We talked a bit ago, but haven’t had the chance to talk about everything. We’re going to when stuff calms down.**  
**> >>   The funeral’s tomorrow, coronation the next day.**  
**> >>   He left his phone in his bag, but he should be able to respond soon.**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   how’s he doing? he’s been a mess**  
**< <<   you should have seen him yelling at the security team**  
**< <<   it’s easy to forget he’s royal**  
**< <<   well, it was but**  
**< <<   yeah those fights reminded me**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   He’s coping.**  
**> >>   I haven’t seen much of him, but he’s pushing through.**

 **From: Phichit C.**  
**< <<   sounds like him. give him a hug for me?**

 **To: Phichit C.**  
**> >>   I will.**

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s tour of the palace gives him fewer glimpses into Yuuri’s childhood than he’d expected. The palace is huge, the attendant at Viktor’s elbow briskly guiding him through the maze of corridors. Occasionally, they stop in a sitting room, or one devoted to displaying various artifacts and gifts to the Royal Family. A few times, he catches glimpses into ornate ballrooms and stately offices. He listens to the guide talk, telling him as much as she can about nearly everything in the palace. Of all the rooms he sees, his favorite is the library.

Walls of books are stacked high on two levels, between huge windows open to the grounds. Chairs, couches, and desks are strategically placed in the areas with the most light. He can imagine Yuuri spending afternoons here curled up with a book, or handheld game system as a child. Looking through the stacks, he sees books on every subject imaginable. Photos and paintings adorn the walls. In them, figures in widely varying clothing are posed carefully. Older paintings resemble those he’s seen on his visits to Japan, the clothing almost exactly the same. Some newer paintings, however, show a sudden and drastic switch. Here, clothing is mostly European style, all of the men in suits while most women stand awkwardly next to them in Western gowns. The next section of wall holds only one image, a giant painting hung above a desk. The family in it is back to traditional clothing, the stately man in the center proudly wearing a crown.

Viktor examines the wall for information about the painting, but the only plaque is in the Sachiman dialect of Japanese. Shortly, however, the guide approaches and starts explaining. “This is a portrait of His Royal Majesty’s grandfather, King Noboru, the first monarch in power after the sovereignty of our nation was fully restored.”

“The royal family was out of power, before?”

“In all but name, yes,” she replies. “We were taken over by Imperial Japan. Our cultures have always been similar, since we are both island nations and close enough in proximity for trade to flourish easily. We’d had a peaceful coexistence until Japan started colonizing the countries around them. We were one of the first they went after. Once we were overthrown, the Emperor established the title of ‘King’ as being lower than his, and wrested all power from the royal family.”

Viktor nods, contemplative.

“It was with England’s aid that we regained our independence, though their persistent meddling didn’t cease for more than another decade. It is for this reason that to this day, English is the language of use here in court.” She gestures at the painting with practiced elegance. “King Noboru took full governmental control back from the English upon his coronation, thanks to a series of cunning and effective negotiations. Since then, the crown has passed peacefully to King Toshiya, and now to King Yuuri, long may he reign.”

She guides Viktor further into the library, and they’re standing in front of the fireplace at the other end when Viktor lets out a gasp. A giant painting hangs between two open curtains. The late king stands in the center, dressed in a kimono, haori, and hakama, leather split-toed boots on his feet. Behind him, to either side, stand a stout woman and young teenaged girl, both in ornate kimono. In front of the woman, standing directly to the king’s left, is very young Yuuri in a similar outfit to his father’s. His face is bare of glasses, long hair slicked back into a small topknot. He’s smiling faintly, and Viktor wonders briefly if he got in trouble for fidgeting while the portrait was being taken. The older woman guiding him smiles and turns to move on.

Their next Yuuri-related stop is a sitting room very close to the throne room, clearly for dignitaries and guests of the king. This room holds another portrait of the Royal Family, a photograph taken probably months before Yuuri’s last days in the country.  Yuuri looks to be around seven, this time in Western-style military dress, long pants tucked into knee-high boots. He’s sitting almost casually in a chair next to his father, also in uniform, both looking somberly at the camera. His mother and sister stand behind them in the center, each dressed in layered kimono, stone-faced and staring into the lens. Viktor absently wonders if there are any pictures of Yuuri as a child where he’s smiling. Was he allowed to smile?

The woman with him asks if he’s ready to move on. He nods. They’re walking the grounds when he asks about Yuuri directly. “Did you know Yuuri when he was a kid?”

The woman purses her lips. “It is proper to refer to His Royal Majesty by his title or honorifics when talking to or about him, _Mr._ Nikiforov. At _all times.”_

Viktor frowns. “Did you know…His Royal Majesty when he was a child?” he repeats. The words feel strange on his tongue, but the woman’s face softens.

“I did,” she says. “I was responsible for much of his supervision when he was young.”

“What was he like?”

“He was a good child. Well-behaved, most of the time. He often ran off when he felt overwhelmed, which was fairly troublesome.”

“He was a kid, though. Kids do that kind of thing.”

“He was a prince and knew better,” she says curtly.

Viktor doesn’t argue back. No wonder Yuuri’s so restrained.

They pass much of the rest of the tour in silence, Viktor’s guide pointing out “places of interest” while Viktor tries to imagine a tiny Yuuri roaming the palace and grounds. He wishes, briefly, that Yuuri was the one showing him around. They’ll have plenty of time, though, and Yuuri’s dealing with so much right now he can’t bring himself to ask.

 

~*~

 

It’s almost noon when the guide is finished. “Unfortunately, Mr. Nikiforov, we will have to end our tour, as His Royal Majesty has requested your presence for lunch.” It takes a second for Viktor to process that she’s talking about Yuuri, but when he does, he nods. The woman takes Viktor’s arm, quickly guiding him to the king’s quarters.

Going down the hallway, Viktor realizes it’s the same one from the night before. The picture of the late king has had black curtains draped over the side, in mourning. They enter through the double doors to the king’s – to Yuuri’s private sitting room. “Your Royal Majesty,” the guide says, “Mr. Nikiforov, as summoned.”

Yuuri smiles. Viktor takes a few steps forward. “Yuu-“ he begins, but is cut short when the attendant clears her throat and gives him a pointed glare. “Y-Your Majesty,” he begins again, “I’m honored to have received your invitation.” The guide had made him rehearse the phrase until it sounded appropriately respectful, insisting that protocols be followed by all visitors to the palace, regardless of why they’re there to begin with.  Viktor risks a glance at the woman as he toes off his shoes, her warnings about propriety echoing in his head.

Yuuri takes it in stride. “I appreciate you coming. Please, if you will.” He gestures at the chair opposite him. He dismisses the guide as Viktor sits down stiffly. “Our lunch will be in soon.” He nods in response. After the door is closed, leaving them alone, Yuuri leans forward, worried. “Vitya, are you ok?”

Viktor nods, letting his shoulders drop. “I am. I’m just not used to the formality of everything.”

Yuuri nods. “I can see why that’d be an issue. I’m still getting used to it again, honestly. While I was gone, my only… practice acting royal was with my bodyguard, at home, or with Minako-sensei. Having so many people using my title and whatnot again is a little disorienting, but it’s getting better. How was the tour?”

“It was interesting.” Viktor says. He describes his morning, how the guide showed him everything she deemed important. Reverence fills his voice as he describes the immense library, stacks of books and plush seating just waiting for him, and the shine in Yuuri’s eyes says Viktor’s excitement hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Yuuri smiles. “I’ll have to show you the borrowing system, so you can read while you’re here. There are plenty of books in English, and I’m sure some are in Russian or French. We have a wide variety.” Viktor’s relief is palpable. He’s had plenty to occupy his morning so far, but the long hours Yuuri’s apparently required to devote to his duty loom ahead of him, storm clouds on the horizon. Never does he feel more alone than when he’s isolated, and while most of the people at the court seem to speak English, the dialectical Japanese spoken in the rest of the country is impossible to decipher. The food is delivered, and while they eat he finishes his story quickly.

 

They curl up on the couch with coffee when they're done with their meal, savoring the time they have left.

“I wish you _didn’t_ have to use my title,” Yuuri says quietly as he snuggles up against Viktor. “It’s awkward hearing you use it. I should just… tell everyone to let you call me by name.” Sinking into him, Yuuri smiles. “You know, they can hardly get mad at you when the king is ok with it.” Viktor sees a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. “I’m the king. I do what I want.” He chuckles to himself.

Viktor’s laughter fills the room. The relief he feels spreads, warm, through his entire body.  The last twenty-four hours have been a rollercoaster, but at the end of everything, Yuuri is still very much _his Yuuri._

“What did you think of the palace?” Yuuri asks as he sips his coffee.

“I didn’t realize how _big_ this place was!” Viktor replies, awestruck. He’s seen few buildings that rival the palace, and those he _has_ seen were museums open to the public. For something that is, in essence, a residence first, there’s so much _space_. He wonders briefly if Yuuri’s ever gotten lost.

Yuuri laughs in response. “Neither did I, when I was little.” He looks contemplative for a second, and then a grin spreads across his face. “I tried to flood the entire first floor once.”

Viktor feels his eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, why?”

“Wanted to turn it into an ice skating rink.” A red flush crawls up Yuuri’s cheeks. “I’d just gotten both roller and ice skates for my sixth birthday, and I figured out how nice the floors were for rollerblading, so I decided if it was that fun on _wheels_ it’d be even more fun on _ice skates_.”

Viktor snorts. “Were they mad?”

Yuuri sighs. “I assume the staff was. We had to get the whole hallway redone and that, I imagine, was a hassle. My dad – “ he takes a deep breath, “my dad thought it was hilarious. He told me off, of course, but his eyes were shining the whole time. He reminded me that maybe our living quarters weren’t the best place for an ice rink, as attractive as the idea was. That winter they froze an outside rink for me in one of the gardens.” Yuuri leans into the crook of Viktor’s arm. “I never _did_ figure out how to actually _freeze_ the water in the house.”

“So you were the stereotypical prince who roller skated around the Royal Palace?”

“The main ballroom’s never been the same,” Yuuri says sadly and Viktor chokes back a laugh. “I’m serious! They had to re-finish parts of the floor and I chipped part of the baseboards. It’s behind a curtain, I’ll show you if they haven’t fixed it.” At this point, Viktor’s now laughing uncontrollably. “The curtain… also might be hung from a relatively new curtain rod.”

Viktor takes a deep breath before smiling and pulling Yuuri closer as he lays a kiss on his forehead. “The woman said you were well-behaved!”

“She says that to everyone, I'm sure,” Yuuri retorts. “Can’t be less than perfect if you’re royalty.” His face falls.

Viktor scoots closer. “You can be less than perfect if you’re Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks at him, relieved.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri leaves for official business again, and Viktor’s left to wander the grounds as he pleases, as the palace has been closed to tourists in light of the king’s death. It’s a nice day outside, cold, snow on the ground glimmering in the afternoon sun. He sorely wishes he’d brought Makkachin, but then, he didn’t expect the recent turn of events. He’s admiring a fountain when he’s approached by a short, stout woman in an ornate red kimono.

“You must be Yuuri-kun’s Vicchan,” she says warmly. Viktor turns towards her and nods mutely. _Yuuri-kun? Who is this woman?_ She takes Viktor’s arm. “Join me on a walk?” Viktor nods again, still puzzled. They make their way around the courtyard in silence, for a bit, before the woman speaks. “How are you finding Hasetsu?”

“I haven’t seen as much of the capital city as I’d like, but what I have seen is gorgeous, ma’am.” Offending anyone at court is the last thing Viktor wants to do, so he flips the switch in his brain that helps him navigate interviews and conversations with sponsors. It must have been the right thing to say, because the woman beams.

“There’s no need to be so formal, Vicchan, not when we’re alone.”

Viktor lets go and looks at her. “I’m sorry, I’m not entirely sure who…”

The woman laughs softly. “Yuuri-kun must be anxious indeed. Understandably so. I’m his mother, Queen Hiroko.” Viktor’s eyes widen in surprise. He’s seen no recent pictures of the queen mother, and the pictures he _had_ seen were formal and austere enough that the kind smile on the face of the woman in front of him had rendered her almost unrecognizable.

He does his best to bow. “Y-your Majesty, I-“ he stops as the queen mother pats his arm.

“No need for that when it’s just us.” Her smile is soft, genuine. He offers his arm again and the Hiroko takes it, guiding him gently towards the main buildings.

“How are you liking Akitsushima so far?”

“Aki…su…” he trails off, the unfamiliar word escaping him.

“Akitsushima,” the queen mother says, “is _our_ name for our country. ‘Sachima’, as we are known to much of the rest of the world, developed when foreigners misheard and mispronounced Akitsushima. As you can see, the error stuck.” Chuckling good-naturedly, she beams at him, and he can see Yuuri in her smile.

She’s leading him into the palace now, and they walk amicably through the corridors. Sometimes, Hiroko stops them to tell some story or another about Yuuri’s childhood, smiling the entire while. Upon reaching her rooms, she looks at Viktor warmly.

“Would you like to see some of Yuuri-kun’s baby pictures?”

“I saw a few on my tour of the palace earlier,” Viktor assures her.

“All formal portraits, I’m sure.” Viktor nods. She’s not wrong, even the picture of the young princess lovingly holding her baby brother had been posed. The girl’s kimono was neat, sleeves falling around her in graceful curves as she gently held the bundle in her arms (conveniently propped up with pillows so the camera could catch the infant’s face). Her hair had been perfectly styled, and the lighting too good for coincidence.

“Would you like to see the family albums?” The queen continues. She’s looking up at Viktor now, eyes sparkling much like Yuuri’s. Only kindness is in her smile, and Viktor nods gratefully. She pats his arm with her free hand, nodding regally at people they pass as she leads him further into the palace.

 

True to her word, the queen mother pulls out two large scrapbooks, both almost bursting. They’re bound in blue leather, silver accents running along the spine and edges of the covers. When she opens them, Viktor sees what he can only describe as a veritable treasure trove. It’s an intimate glance into Yuuri’s life, a chance to learn more about him. Viktor is almost desperate for even a taste.

Many of the photos wouldn’t look out of place in a typical family’s album were it not for the sheer opulence of their surroundings. Yuuri taking his first steps in a gilded bedroom, Yuuri as a baby with cake all over his face in a carved wooden chair with plush velvet cushions. There are pictures of him as a child, playing in water on the manicured lawns and chasing butterflies through the ornate gardens. A picture taken on his sixth birthday shows Yuuri holding up a new pair of skates, grinning from ear to ear. A pair of roller skates lies on the table behind him. In the next photo, a young Yuuri in a stiff black uniform stands next to his parents and a limousine with flags on it, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was his first day of school,” Hiroko says lovingly. “He was so excited to have friends and playmates his age.”

“There weren’t many before that?” Viktor asks.

She shakes her head. “Not many children at the palace, save a few of the live-in staff’s. He didn’t have much interaction with them, and what little he _did_ have was fairly awkward, as you can imagine.”

“Because he was royalty?”

“That was much of the reason, yes. The fact that Yuuri's family technically employed their parents is another. He had two young friends, a boy named Takeshi who was the son of one of the guards, and a girl named Yuuko, daughter of our events coordinator. They grew close in the months before Yuuri left us, and I imagine he’ll be happy to see them again.”

Viktor nods. He points at a picture of Yuuri, wearing a small tuxedo and a huge grin, standing next to a grand piano. “What’s this from, if you don’t mind?”

“His first big piano recital. It was at the school’s end-of-semester program, and he played Edward MacDowell’s _To a Wild Rose,”_ she says, smiling. “He insisted on us not hearing him play until the recital.”

Turning the page, she points to another picture. Yuuri sits at the piano, aged six or seven, with his hands gently on the keys. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth in concentration, and he’s leaning forward, squinting at the sheet music. “That was about the time we figured out he needed glasses,” she says. “He’d had larger print music before as a beginner, and of course his books had large print as well, but when the music and text in his books got smaller, he had more trouble reading it.” Tapping a picture below, she grins. “This is him with his first pair of glasses, he loved the chunky blue frames he got for everyday use. Blue’s his favorite color, you know.”

Viktor smiles. “I know! His laptop case is blue, the mug at my apartment is blue. He even has chunky blue glasses, they almost look like the ones from the picture,” he says cheerfully. “I have some pictures from Detroit, ma’am, if you’d like to see them.” Hiroko’s eyes widen as she beams happily.

“I would love to, Vicchan!”

Grinning, Viktor goes to his ‘Yuuri’ album, starting off with the picture Phichit had sent him during the Grand Prix Final. Hiroko gingerly reaches for the phone when she sees, taking in Yuuri’s sprawl across the couch almost reverently.

“May I scroll?” she asks, quietly.

Viktor nods, and as she goes through the pictures he gives background. He talks about lazy afternoons in the park, about Yuuri’s cheerful personality while managing both school and a job. He shows her pictures of Yuuri and Makkachin playing, selfies he’d taken whenever he'd felt like preserving the moment. She laughs when she sees Yuuri on the ice, offering stories of his first few lessons and his fight with the palace to be allowed to skate in Michigan, but her face changes to wonder when Viktor shows her a _video._ She smiles sadly as they share stories and go through Viktor’s phone, and when he offers to send her files, her eyes glisten as she nods happily.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Hiroko and Viktor are chatting over tea when a brisk, patterned knock sounds against the heavy wood of the door. “Come in!” She calls happily. Yuuri opens the door slowly, smiling as he sees his mother. He’s accompanied by a young woman with dyed-blonde hair pulled back by an ornate headband. They share a look as they pull off their shoes, setting them neatly by the door before heading over.

“Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says with a smile, “how how were your meetings?”

Sighing, he rolls his eyes. “About as tedious as I'd expected.” The beginnings of anxiety are showing on his face and Viktor smiles reassuringly.

Yuuri takes his seat next to Viktor, gesturing towards him. “Mari, this is Viktor Nikiforov, my boyfriend.” He looks at Viktor, who gives him a smile. Blushing, he continues, “Vitya, this is my older sister, Princess Mari. I see you’ve met my mother.”

He looks at the princess, standing to offer his hand. She smirks slightly and takes it, shaking firmly before taking a seat next to her mother. Viktor smiles as he sits back down, “Your mother’s been very nice. She showed me your baby pictures.”

“She _what?!”_ Yuuri’s face turns a charming shade of red as he sputters. “ _Kaa-san, really?!_ He hasn’t even been here a day!”

Hiroko only smiles more. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s likely never seen any before.” She’s right, of course, and Viktor doesn’t hesitate to let Yuuri know how much he enjoyed the glimpse into his childhood.

Mari chimes in with a smile, “Kaa-san, did you show Viktor the video of Yuuri putting ice cream on his nose at Dad’s coronation dinner?”

“ _Mari!!_ ” Yuuri shouts indignantly.

“Oh hush, it’s adorable,” she says, reaching across the coffee table to pat Yuuri on the cheek.

Viktor laughs, putting his arm over Yuuri’s shoulders as he buries his face in Viktor’s chest.

“What about the one of him stealing sweets off the banquet table when he was six?” Yuuri groans. “It was hilarious; he was hiding under the tablecloth and thought no one would notice an arm sneaking up from underneath,” Mari says, smiling at Viktor. ”He used to think he could get away with anything, since he was next in line for the throne.”

“I did _not_ ,” Yuuri protests quietly into Viktor’s torso. Viktor rubs his side reassuringly.

“You did, for about three months when you were four.”

“I was _four.”_ If Viktor could see Yuuri’s face, he’s sure he would be pouting. He squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri wraps his arms around him.

Hiroko’s voice ends the banter. “I believe dinner will be here momentarily. I would like to discuss what’s going to be happening over the next few days.” Yuuri sits up.

“The funeral?” he asks quietly.

Hiroko nods. “The coronation as well. I’ve been going over the ceremonies and guest lists, and unfortunately I’m not sure we’ll be able to accommodate Vicchan’s presence at either event without making waves. First and foremost, the guest list for the coronation has been relatively finalized, since we were… anticipating this,” she says sadly. “We’re unable to shift things around without a great deal of effort, even were it not for my second point. There is much speculation about why you and Vicchan were at the airport together. Vicchan,” she says as she looks at Viktor, “as you’re already a highly-visible public figure, we believe it’s prudent to tread carefully right now. I understand you and Yuuri-kun are planning on discussing the situation soon, but this is _far_ too soon for you two to be able to really talk about things in-depth.”

Both Yuuri and Viktor nod slowly, in unison, and Yuuri leans on Viktor again, slotting comfortably against his side. “This means, Vicchan,” Hiroko continues, “the palace has concluded it would be best for you to remain here, in the residential wing, during both events.”

Yuuri pulls his legs up to the couch, burying his face in Viktor’s sweater with shuddering breaths as he wraps his arms tighter around him. “I _want_ you there,” he says on the edge of crying, voice muffled in the thick wool.

“I know, Lyubov,” Viktor responds, rubbing his back. “But I can’t, you heard—”

“I _know,_ Vitya, I just… I want you _there.”_

Running his hand through Yuuri’s hair, Viktor kisses the top of his head, before looking at Hiroko. “Will I at least be able to watch?”

To his relief, she nods. “We’ll have a livestream for you, a dedicated one so traffic doesn’t clog it up. Someone will be by to set it up before each event. Do you have a personal computer you’d like to use or should we get you one?”

“I brought my laptop and plug adaptors,” he says, rubbing circles on Yuuri’s back. Mari smiles at him.

“We’ll get you an account for the wifi. Vicchan,” Hiroko continues, “I have some paperwork we need you to fill out as well, to get you set up here and cleared to have access to most areas of the palace.”

“Most?”

Yuuri moves his face, speaking quietly, “you won’t have access to places you don’t need access to. The conference rooms we use for the really sensitive political discussions, government documentation storage and the like.”

Viktor nods, using his thumb to work on some of the knots in Yuuri’s shoulders. “I can fill out paperwork,” he says. “How soon do you need it?”

“As soon as you can, but there’s no real rush. On your own time is fine.” Viktor nods again. He can fill forms out; he’s good at filling out forms.

“I’ll have them to you within the next few days,” he assures her. “Should I give them to you?”

“Any one of the palace staff will be fine, Vicchan.” Hiroko smiles.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” Yuuri says. “Vitya, give the forms to me or my family, I’ll make sure they get to the proper people.”

“Yuuri-kun, I hardly think that’s necessary.”

Viktor feels Yuuri stiffen beside him. “Kaa-san, I’ve spent months being jerked around by the security team. I’m not entirely sure they had problems on their _own,_ if you catch my drift, and I’d like to prevent further issues.”

Pursing her lips, Hiroko nods. “Understood. Give it to one of us, then, Vicchan, and we’ll get back to you when it’s been processed.”

 

~*~

 

Dinner finished, in a small sitting room in the eastern wing of the palace, Yuuri is positioned on a small dais in his formal clothing, black silk kimono-style shirt wrapped around his torso, the looser pants tied tightly around his waist, and tucked into leather boots at the bottom. A solid haori is draped over a nearby chair. Everything he’s wearing is a rich black, and a circlet sits nearby, gleaming silver in its storage case. This is the final fitting, the outfit he’ll be wearing at the funeral, and he looks almost desperate to be done with it.

The tailor rambles on as he makes his adjustments, marking the fabric as he comments on how fashions have changed over the years, how King Toshiya handled his wardrobe. How very much _like his father_ Yuuri looks, as he stands there with clenched fists in front of three full-length mirrors. Viktor meets Yuuri’s eyes in the reflection, and they twitch with each mention of Toshiya, with each comment comparing them. Tears start to gather at yet _another_ mention of his father’s death, and Viktor can’t help what comes out of his mouth. “For god’s sake, he doesn’t want to talk about it, can’t you _see that?!_ Talk about the weather or something!” Yuuri just stands with his mouth agape, blushing fiercely, blinking away his tears. Before he can say anything a stern woman, the tour guide from earlier, steps forward.

 _“Mr. Nikiforov_ ,” she spits. “Know your _place.”_

Viktor bristles at being patronized like this.

“It’s fine, leave him.” Yuuri’s voice is quiet but firm, and the attendant backs off, glaring daggers at Viktor.

Viktor sits back on the couch smugly, as the tailor discusses the unseasonably sunny (yet still cold) weather recently. Yuuri responds appropriately at the right times, and the rest of the fitting goes without issue.

 

Once they’re back in the relative privacy of Yuuri’s rooms, Yuuri trades his contacts for his glasses and begins making tea in earnest. He calls down for a selection of jams to be brought up, giving Viktor looks that tell him _exactly_ what he thinks of his tea habits, and waits impatiently for the kettle to boil. The jams are delivered promptly, set on their own stand on the table. Yuuri returns to the table to examine the teas, glancing frequently at the kettle. He jumps slightly when Viktor wraps his arms around his waist, leaning his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to relax into his embrace, much of the tension leaving his him as he almost sags against Viktor.

“Anything I can do to help?” Viktor whispers against his neck.

Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says shakily. “I d-don’t kn-know.” Warm tears run into Viktor’s hair, and he looks up to see Yuuri crying quietly. He kisses his cheek.

“How about we focus on making tea, and then curl up on the couch, yes?”

Yuuri swallows and nods. He rubs the back of his hand across his face, sniffling. When the kettle is finally done, Yuuri quickly makes their tea and walks over to the couch with his while Viktor stirs a spoonful of jam into his own. Yuuri sets his tea down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to the couch so they don’t have to get up. Viktor sits, one leg along the back of the sofa, leaving room for Yuuri to lean against him. Yuuri opens one of the windows a crack, grabs a blanket, and sits against Viktor, tucking the blanket around them. Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri again as he turns to lean sideways against Viktor’s torso, tucking his feet up onto the couch.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Yuuri shrugs, grabbing his cup and sipping gingerly. He sputters a bit, setting his cup down on the table and curling into Viktor. “Too hot,” he whines softly.

Viktor chuckles, “It happens.”

Yuuri’s quiet for a few minutes, and Viktor occupies himself rubbing Yuuri’s back, paying close attention to knots in the muscles. Yuuri sighs contentedly. “Thank you.”

“I love giving you back rubs.”

“F-for earlier.” Yuuri takes a deep breath, holding it slightly before letting it out. Viktor rubs his back with renewed enthusiasm.

“He was being an ass.” Yuuri nods quickly against his torso.

“Y-you can’t do that in public, though,” Yuuri’s voice sounds rough, but invites no argument. “No matter what anyone’s saying to or about me. Let me take care of it.”

Viktor scowls, but nods against him. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Yuuri.”

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Viktor feels his shirt getting damp. Looking down, he sees tears running down Yuuri’s face. He sets down the tea he was about to drink in favor of pulling Yuuri closer, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He rests his cheek on the top of Yuuri’s head, whispering reassurances in whatever language comes to him. When Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s chest, sobs now wracking his body, Viktor feels his throat grow tight and a warm prickling at the corner of his eyes.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been by the time Yuuri stops crying, but his leg is numb and his hips are stiff. Yuuri sits up slightly, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. Grabbing a tissue, he wipes his eyes and blows his nose. Viktor takes advantage of the distraction to rub hurriedly at his eyes, but when he looks back up, Yuuri’s holding out a tissue. He smiles wanly, cleaning up as best he can before moving his leg away from the back of the couch, stretching it in front of him as feeling slowly returns. Yuuri sits next to him again, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says quietly.

“About crying?” Viktor looks at him, puzzled. Yuuri blushes while he nods. “You don’t need to apologize for having emotions, Yuuri,” Viktor says gently. “You’re human. You’re allowed to cry.”

“I’m not though,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “I’m king, now. I can’t cry, I can’t be weak. I have to – I have to hold my head up high and be strong and…” he trails off as a hitched sob escapes him.

“You don’t have to be king when you’re alone with me.” Viktor rubs his back. “You can be Yuuri, just Yuuri.”

“B-but if someone comes in,” Yuuri says, “I have to – “

“I’ll deal with them,” Viktor replies gently. “I’ll give you time to clean up. It’s healthy to let yourself grieve properly. You need to give yourself time.”

“I don’t _have_ time, Vitya. It’s not like… it’s not like I can just cancel everything until I get my shit together, and I can’t just _not have_ my shit together.”

“Lyubov,” Viktor says softly, “you can’t just power through everything. Eventually, something’s going to give.” Yuuri looks at him then, somewhere between distraught and frustrated, before looking back down at his hands. Viktor kisses his cheek.  “Do you have anything else to do today?”

Shaking his head, Yuuri sighs. “Nothing else today, no. The preparations for the funeral are finished, as far as I'm concerned, and my meetings are done. I was going to bed soon.”

“Sleep with me, Yuuri,” Viktor says softly.

Yuuri jerks away. “Are you seriously wanting to —”

“No,” Viktor interrupts. Yuuri blushes and looks down. “Just come to bed with me, we can curl up under the blankets and I can hold you.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says softly. “After what you said during the fight we had in Detroit, I…”

Kissing him, Viktor brushes his hand down Yuuri’s cheek. “It’s ok, Lyubov. Would you like to spend tonight together?”

Yuuri nods. “I would, Vitya. I'd love to.” His voice is quiet, his shoulders heavy, and when he smiles at Viktor, it carries with it the sense of unfathomable sadness.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And **all the people say,**  
>  ‘You can’t wake up, this is not a dream’_  
> \- Halsey, Gasoline
> 
> They’ve been reunited!! They have a long road together, though. As per usual, Hiroko’s absolutely delighted with Viktor, who is in fact a good, if slightly confused, egg.
> 
> The response to the last chapter was pretty amazing, thank you all for reading and sticking with me so far!! The next chapter is quite angsty, as it covers both the funeral _and_ the coronation, so prepare for that.
> 
> Next week (on April 2nd), there’ll be updates to both Closets and All This And Heaven, Too. The update to ATAHT will be relatively short, just a drabble taking place immediately after this chapter, but the update to Closets will be of a decent length, covering more of Phichit’s time with Yuuri pre-TNOT. Both updates will be posted on Monday afternoon, GMT -7.
> 
> Special thanks to Isis and Riki for being absolutely wonderful in helping me work out the kinks in the storyline.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> お母さん（おかあさん）(Okaa-san) = “Mom/mother” in Japanese. In private, Yuuri and Mari both use the more-familiar _Kaa-san/母さん._
> 
> Edward MacDowell’s _To a Wild Rose_
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added.**  
>  As usual, you can find me (and updates about publishing schedules etc) on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	8. When Darkness Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral, a coronation, and all Viktor can do is watch as Yuuri faces his birthright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ8zfRJfUuc)

Yuuri presses his forehead to Viktor’s. He’s clothed in pure black, his long haori nearly skimming the ground. He clutches the lapels of Viktor’s jacket, gripping them tightly in his hands.

“I can’t go out there,” he says, voice breaking. “Vitya, I can’t.”

“You can, Lyubov moya,” Viktor says. He wraps his arms around Yuuri's shoulders as firmly as he can.

“You’re not even going to  _ be _ there,” Yuuri says with a sob.

“We couldn’t fit me in comfortably, remember? Not without causing problems. I’ll be here when you get home, it’ll only be a few hours.” He rubs Yuuri's back, along his shoulders. “I’ll be watching.”

“I promise I won’t cry,” Yuuri says, even as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I promise, Vityusha.”

“Yuuri, you don’t ha—” Yuuri silences him with a finger on his lips.

“I need to be strong for someone else, I can’t do it for myself,” Yuuri chokes out. “Please.”

Viktor nods. Yuuri's hair is gelled forcefully back, with no ornamentation beyond a silver circlet. Not for a funeral, especially not before he’s been officially crowned king. Viktor presses a kiss to the top of his head regardless. His hands move to Yuuri's cheeks. Yuuri's eyes are shining, his lips trembling, but he does his best to swallow his tears as he grips Viktor’s wrists.

There’s a knock on the office door.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, sounding far braver than he looks.

“Three minutes, Your Majesty!” An attendant shouts from just outside.

Biting his lower lip, Yuuri looks back up at Viktor. He’s terrified, and barely managing to hide it. With an ache in his chest, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri tightly, pulling him close.

“You can do this, Lyubov,” he says hoarsely.

“Watch me?” Yuuri asks, eyes pleading. “Watch me, Vityusha?”

“I will,” Viktor says. “I’ll be watching, and I’ll have my phone on in case you want to text.”

Yuuri squeezes him tightly. “I can do this,” he says quietly. “I…I can make it through today.”

“You can,” Viktor whispers. “You can make it through, then you’ll come home, and I’ll be here waiting.” He presses another kiss to Yuuri's forehead. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Yuuri.”

“Just a few hours, Vityusha.” Yuuri rocks forward on his toes, kissing Viktor firmly, lingering for a long moment. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be watching, Lyubov.”

Yuuri leaves the room, glancing nervously back at Viktor before closing the door behind him. Viktor opens his laptop, finding the webpage he’d been logged into that morning by one of the cabinet aides. In short order, the funeral procession comes up on the livestream. Viktor knows it’s going to take hours for them to make their way through the capital, so he scrolls through Instagram and replies to the occasional comment. His most recent few pictures are flooded with comments asking about the photos of Yuuri and him at Hasetsu International Airport. Those, he pointedly ignores. On the laptop, a close-up of Yuuri draws his attention.

The very image of composure, Yuuri stares bravely ahead as he rides behind his father’s plain wooden casket. His eyes are focused on an indistinguishable point in front of him, and it’s clear he’s not paying much attention to the proceedings. Occasionally, he nods in the direction of the crowd, but doesn’t wave, the occasion too somber. Hiroko and Mari ride in the open carriage on either side of him, both dressed in black kimono. Their outfits and hair are unembellished, makeup subdued.

Viktor’s not familiar enough with Hiroko and Mari to be able to read them, though he knows this can’t be easy. Yuuri, though…Yuuri wears his heart on his sleeve, if you know how to find it. He expresses emotion with his whole body, which is what makes the footage on Viktor’s screen so jarring. Yuuri sits as still as a stone, face an unreadable mask. Clenched fists resting on his knees are the only indication of how he’s feeling, and as his thumb rubs his leg repeatedly, it becomes clear how anxious he is.

 

The livestream cuts to wide shots, and while the procession continues, he reads through his messages. Everyone who’s met or heard about Yuuri has sent questions, and Viktor had been avoiding looking at the skyrocketing numbers on all of his social media icons, avoiding dealing with the storm of inquiries, but at this point he has nothing better to do.

 

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Let me know how things go in Sachima with Coffee Boy**  
**< <<   Send me a souvenir ;p**  
**< <<   Vitya, I just saw your boyfriend on the news, I think.**  
**< <<   He looks like Phichit’s roommate, but it says he’s some sort of king.**  
**< <<   I just saw pictures of you with him at the airport, it’s definitely Coffee Boy**  
**< <<   Vitya, what’s going on?**  
**< <<   Are you ok?**  
**< <<   Vitya?**  
**< <<   Viktor, what’s happening? They’re saying he was exiled?**  
**< <<   Did you know about this?**  
**< <<   Vitya, it’s been almost two days, are you ok?!**  
**< <<   At least tell me you’re alive.**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I’m ok. It was him.**  
**> >>   I didn’t know he was royalty until we got here.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Thank God you’re alive.**  
**< <<   So he lied to you? The whole time?**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I figured it out**  
**> >>   He couldn’t tell me, Palace’s orders.**  
**> >>   The “Exiled Prince” thing is just a press nickname, he wasn’t actually kicked out of the country.**  
**> >>   Someone tried to kill him when he was a kid, so his family sent him into hiding.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Merde. I hope he’s not expecting you to just be ok with this.**  
**< <<   I don’t care if he’s royalty, he hurt you.**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I never said he hurt me, Chris.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Can you honestly say he didn’t?**

 

The situation may hurt, yes, but  _ Yuuri _ didn’t hurt him. Yuuri  _ tried _ to prevent this, that much was clear, and since Viktor figured it out he’s been nothing but honest. 

 

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I can.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Phichit says he knew**  
**< <<   But you didn’t? **  
**< <<   You two have been together for months**  
**< <<   How does that make sense, Vitya?!**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   It may have something to do with the fact that Phichit’s been his best friend for years! **  
**> >>   Things are hectic right now, we haven’t had the chance to talk things through entirely. **  
**> >>   His dad’s funeral is today. Right now.**  
**> >>   His coronation is tomorrow.**  
**> >>   He’s having a rough enough time as it is.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Don’t let this turn into you making excuses for him, Vitya.**

 

Viktor’s lips purse as his eyes narrow. Chris has his best interests at heart, it seems, but he doesn’t have the right to start prying like he is. One shit relationship and a short list of people he very briefly dated over the years, and it seems like the entire world either thinks Viktor’s a playboy, or in the case of those “close” to him, a desperate romantic with terrible taste willing to overlook any flaws. For some reason, they also seem to think they have the right to butt into his love life at will.

He’s sick of it.

 

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I’m not. We’re going to discuss this more after things settle.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   Make sure he doesn’t weasel out of it.**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   Considering HE keeps insisting we have to discuss things without me saying anything, I highly doubt he’s even going to try.**  
**> >>   He knows things went badly.**  
**> >>   He meant to tell me before all of this happened **  
**> >>   He was happy I figured it out.**  
**> >>   Yes, I wish he’d told me well before we left on the trip.**  
**> >>   But he couldn’t. And he’s explained why. **  
**> >>   He’s already apologized, more than once.**  
**> >>   He apologized before we left the airport**  
**> >>   And it was the first thing he did when he saw me again.**

**From: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**< <<   I’m just trying to help, Vitya.**  
**< <<   You’ve been hurt before.**

**To: Chris ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿**  
**> >>   I’m well aware of that fact, thank you.**  
**> >>   As it stands, it’s my personal life.**  
**> >>   My choice. **

 

He closes out of the conversation with Chris before he says something he regrets.

 

**From: ICE TIGER**  
**< <<   what the FUCK, viktor?!!**  
**< <<   katsudon’s some sort of king?!**  
**< <<   the fuck is going on? yakov and lilia haven’t said shit aside from lilia saying he was a fucking prince and that’s why they snuck him around?**  
**< <<   when are you coming back to russia**  
**< <<   are you even coming home?!**  
**< <<   ignoring me? fuck you, too, asshole**  
**< <<   i hope katsudon’s fucking worth this bullshit. **

 

He runs his fingers through his hair again. The only responses he can think of as far as Yuri goes range from jokingly sarcastic to irritated beyond belief, and he can’t deal with Yuri’s badgering right now. He fires off a quick message to Alexei, letting him know that he’s ok, and to tell their moms he’ll call and explain everything when he has a moment, once things are settled. He ignores the messages from other skaters he doesn’t know as well, and his rinkmates since he doesn’t feel like dealing with their prying. Yakov hasn’t said anything, and somehow that’s not as comforting as Viktor thought it would be.

His texts to Yuuri from the night they arrived have been opened.  Viktor looks them over again.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Любовь what’s going on?**  
**> >>   Are you safe?**  
**> >>   Can I see you?**  
**[Call not answered]**  
**[Call not answered]**  
**> >>   Yuuri please, what’s happening now?**  
**> >>   Are you ok?**  
**> >>   Please, Любовь, answer the phone.**  
**[Call not answered]**  
**> >>   They told me to stay in this bedroom I’m in**  
**> >>   Nobody would tell me anything, just told me to wait**  
**> >>   For you to send for me.**  
**[Call not answered]**  
**> >>   Are you doing alright? You looked terrified**  
**> >>   Call me, please? When you can?**  
**> >>   I know they said you’re in meetings.**  
**> >>   I’m worried about you, Любовь**  
**> >>   Yuuri.**  
**> >>   Please.**

 

He’d given up after that. Closing his eyes with a sigh, he exits out of the app. Re-reading the messages is like reliving that night, and it was bad enough the first time. The video on-screen changes, Yuuri and his family are making their way up a dais in front of an ornate building. A government official stands at the podium and starts speaking. It’s in Sachiman Japanese, as far as Viktor can tell, but soon enough captions in Russian pop up. The official talks about the late king, about the turbulence of his reign, the careful balance between tradition and progress he’d kept. He praises King Toshiya’s kind heart and genial personality, his willingness to hear varying points of view, and his readiness to admit when he’d been wrong. Viktor smiles. It sounds very much like Yuuri takes after his father.

When the official has finished speaking, there are several others. Government workers as well, they mostly give anecdotes about positive experiences with the king, the strength of his leadership in times of trouble. When they’re done, Yuuri stands. He walks slowly towards the podium, head held high as he takes several deep breaths. The prepared speech is short, fond memories from Yuuri’s childhood mixed with cautious admiration and praise. As beautiful as the speech is, if the subtitles are accurate, it’s clear Yuuri is walking a fine line, careful in how he phrases things and what he says. Though distorted by the microphones, his voice rings clearly. He’s a gifted orator, his native dialect of Japanese flowing off his tongue despite the clear effort he’s making to reign himself in and follow the script.

The speech concludes on a hopeful note, and Yuuri gives a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd before bowing deeply to the wooden coffin. Another bow, this time to his mother, as the widow of the late king, before they follow the coffin into the building behind them. At this point, a message comes up on the screen informing Viktor (specifically, and it strikes a dissonant chord somewhere in his chest) that the ceremony itself has reached its conclusion, as far as what’s visible to the public, and the livestream will stop broadcasting when he exits out of the window, which he does promptly. 

  
  


Forty-five minutes later, Viktor’s phone goes off on the desk next to him.

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   on our way back  _(._.)_**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I'll be here. Do you want me to meet you out front? **

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   no, meet me in my room**  
**< <<   wait you'll get lost, nvm, i’ll meet you in the office.(º_º)**  
**< <<   are you still in the office or did they move you**  
**< <<   or did you move yourself**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’m still in the office!!**  
**> >>   I remember how to get to my room, though.**  
**> >>   I can meet you there, if you like? I understand this is your public office?**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   shit it is. yeah, i’ll meet you in your room. (。_。)**  
**< <<   ttys. love you.**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I love you, too.**

 

A while after he’s successfully found his room, Viktor hears Yuuri’s knocks on the door, and he calls for him to come in while he finishes pouring water into the teapot. Yuuri enters, still dressed in black, and his shoulders seem to carry the world as he makes his way over. In silence, he wraps his arms around Viktor’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder, and lets out a heavy sigh.

Kissing the top of Yuuri’s head, Viktor rubs his back in slow circles. “What’s on your schedule now, Lyubov?” he asks.

“Break for tea. Short meeting about the coronation, and then dinner.” There’s another sigh, drawn out and ending with a hitched breath as Yuuri’s arms tighten around Viktor. “We’ll… There’ll be a private wake in a few days, once the cremation is finished, and after that everything will be over but… that’ll just be my family. I mean, you can go if you want, but you didn’t know him.” He goes still for a second, the air caught in his throat before he lets it out shakily. “To be honest,  _ I _ barely knew him.”

Somehow, he sounds calm. Resigned. As if he’d long since acknowledged the fact that he would never really know his father. Viktor makes a mental note to call his family more often. 

“I made tea,” Viktor says softly, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri sits at the table. Viktor brings the tray over, teapot standing proudly next to the cups, creamer, and sugar bowl. Yuuri takes one of the teacups and its saucer, setting it in front of him before putting the small metal strainer on top. He pours himself a cup, sets Viktor’s cup and saucer in front of him and pours that one, too, before setting the teapot on a trivet and passinge Viktor’s tea over the center of the table.

“Chai?” Yuuri asks softly, smelling the air.

Viktor nods. “Cinnamon vanilla.”

“Is this the one we had at home?” Looking up at Viktor with a raised eyebrow, Yuuri adds milk and sugar, stirring a bit before placing it on the saucer.

“It is!” Viktor responds. “I grabbed some of each of our favorites.”

Yuuri stills, looking into his cup, before looking back up with a smile. He takes a sip and his eyes close, his body relaxes into the chair as he leans back, and he takes a deep breath before taking another sip. “It’s perfect,” he says softly. “How do you always get the perfect ratio of leaves to water, Vityusha?”

Smiling, Viktor adds milk and sugar to his own cup. “Practice?”

“Mmmm, no,” Yuuri says as he drinks more. “Gotta be some sort of magic.”

“I make my own tea a lot,” he offers by way of explanation.

“I’ve been making my own tea for years,” Yuuri responds, “it was all I could actually make for myself there, for a while.”

Frowning, Viktor leans forward. “You knew how to use a microwave and stuff though, right?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, before Yuuri lets out a laugh. “You really think-? You… you remember I worked at a café, right?”

Feeling his face go hot, Viktor gapes for a second. “I meant before Phichit!”

Yuuri chuckles again. “I knew how to microwave stuff, how to boil water for tea, how to make stuff like sandwiches. Nothing fancy, just peanut butter and jelly or pre-cut deli meats. As far as using a stove and oven, though, I never really learned.”

It seems almost wrong for them to be joking, for such a lighthearted conversation in light of the morning’s events, but Yuuri deserves to have a reprieve from the oppressive grief looming heavy in the air. They both do, if he’s being honest. He looks at Yuuri, only fondness in his eyes. He’ll take the smiles, the few moments of happiness they scrounge up when he can. There won’t be nearly enough for a while.

 

Too little time has passed when Yuuri’s alarm goes off in his pocket. He drains the last of his third cup of tea, wiping his mouth gently with a cloth napkin. Viktor looks at him as he stands. “How long will you be, Lyubov?” he asks.

“The meeting will be a few hours, they’re doing a final fitting for that outfit, double-checking the crowns and whatnot. Running through the ceremony with me. But then’s dinner, and I’ll be free after that.” Viktor nods.

It’s going to be unpleasant, sitting and waiting like he has been, but there’s not much else he can do. He kisses Yuuri’s forehead and makes a note to ask a member of the staff later when he should expect his food to be delivered. Yuuri sighs, heavy and defeated, and he looks to be on the verge of tears when he stands and allows himself to be wrapped in a hug. His arms drape themselves loosely around Viktor’s waist, his cheek coming to rest on Viktor’s shoulder as he lets out a trembling breath. They spend a few minutes in the quiet, holding each other as best they can before Yuuri’s second alarm goes off.

Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Viktor’s mouth, he tries for a smile. “I’ll see you later, Vitya.”

Viktor nods. “I’ll see you soon, Lyubov. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri says, before the door is closed behind him and Viktor is, once again, left alone. He puts on his pajamas, pulls out a book, and prepares to wait.

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s halfway through the last chapter when he’s surprised by a knock on his door. Standing, he throws a robe on over his pajamas and pads over. Opening it, he sees Yuuri.  He’s still in traditional formal wear, albeit not the somber outfit he was wearing earlier. This time it’s a grey shirt, embroidered with silver on the left side and at the ends of the bell sleeves. The black undershirt matches Yuuri's loose pants, tucked into split-toed boots at midcalf. His hair’s still slicked back, but some pieces around his face are starting to come loose. He looks tired, though, which really shouldn’t surprise anyone at this point. Viktor grins, happy to see him, only to feel his face fall when he sees his worried expression.

“What’s wrong, Lyubov?”

“Are… are you not coming to dinner?” Yuuri asks softly, glancing down at Viktor’s pajamas.

“Dinner? Your mom said it was going to be a private affair.”

“And you assumed that meant… without you?”

Viktor nods.

“All she meant by that was we weren’t going to be  _ inviting _ people. It’ll be just the family. And the family’s guests-slash-significant-others. Which means you, unless…” He thinks Viktor doesn’t want to go.

“No, Yuuri, I’d… I’d love to come,” he says, raking hair out of his eyes with one hand. “I just didn’t realize I was invited. I know today’s been hard, and I wanted you to have time with your family.”

When he looks down, tears are gathered at the corners of Yuuri's eyes. As he watches, one slips down his cheek, coming to rest on his jaw.

“I just wanted you to feel comfortable, Yuuri,” he says, putting his hands on Yuuri's shoulders. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says hoarsely. “I haven’t been home in more than a decade. I’m more used to being around you than— please. I need you by my side, Vityusha. I can’t do this alone.” More tears are running down his face. This must be a nightmare. Viktor’s world was thrown for a loop, but Yuuri's must feel like it’s ending. He wraps his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into the room and kicking the door shut.

“I’ll be there, Yuuri. I’ll go wherever you need me.” Cupping Yuuri's cheek in his hand, he kisses him softly, pressing their foreheads together.

“My god, Vityusha, we need to talk about this. We need…we can’t just leave things as they are.” His voice is halting, full of sadness and near-desperation. Resting his hands on Viktor’s arm, he bites his lip.

“We need to talk, Yuuri, yes. And we will. But right now, you need to make it through tonight and tomorrow in one piece, and I promise, no matter what, I’ll be by your side the entire time, as much as possible,” he says, and he can feel his throat getting tighter. “Yuuri, I know you know things are less than ideal right now. I also know that you didn’t want everything to happen this way. I want to talk, believe me; I have so many more questions, but for now, let’s do the unhealthy thing and shove everything down until the coronation’s over.”

Tears flow faster now, streaking Yuuri's cheeks and falling heavily onto his shirt collar. “I’m so sorry, Vitya.”

“I know, Lyubov moya, I know. I’m not angry with you, you had your reasons,” he says gently, “and I trust you’re going to explain everything in detail, like you said you would. You’ve been nothing but honest with me since we’ve gotten here, Yuuri, and that means more than you seem to think.”

Yuuri nods slowly.

“I love you so much, Yuuri. I’m not just going to abandon you at the first sign of trouble.” And now Yuuri's crying more, tears streaming openly down his face as hitched sobs force their way out of his throat. He flings his arms around Viktor, burying his face in his shoulder, and Viktor rubs his hands up and down Yuuri's back, his own face wet with tears.

They separate a few minutes later. Yuuri rubs his face and eyes vigorously. He freezes a few seconds later, touching the space under one eye gingerly, feeling around for something. He makes a noise under his breath as he picks something small up, placing it gingerly in his palm. Hand held out in front of him, he looks at Viktor with one eye closed. “I’m, um, going to go take out my other contact, I’ll meet you back here?”

“What should I wear?” Viktor asks.

Shrugging, Yuuri says, “I don’t know. Nice jeans with that one knit sweater? With the boxes on it.”

Viktor nods. He knows the outfit Yuuri's talking about, and it’s near the top of his luggage. After dipping into the bathroom to change and comb his hair, he emerges with a smile. Sitting on his couch is Yuuri, now wearing his glasses. 

Yuuri takes his hand, giving it a squeeze before threading their fingers together. They walk through the halls, but instead of heading to one of the main dining rooms, Yuuri's taking them further into the residential area. “We have a private dining room,” he says, “for when it’s just us.”

Yuuri makes a turn at the end of the hall, opening a set of sliding doors. He removes his boots just inside the door, Viktor following suit, and they take their places at the low table. Mari, who’d stood up when they entered, sits when Yuuri takes his seat, giving a cursory nod as she picks her phone up again. Viktor sits to Yuuri’s left, Mari to his right, but Hiroko’s nowhere to be found.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Viktor says with a smile. 

“‘Mari’ is fine in private, Viktor,” she says, “and good evening to yourself.”

“Is your mother joining us?” he asks.

For the first time that day, Yuuri smiles, giving a short wiggle of his shoulders. “She is, but she’s cooking dinner. She’s making us katsudon.”

“Your mother can cook?”

Mari leans forward. “She took a class when she was in school, and learned to make katsudon because it was something our dad loved. He made it too sometimes, after she taught him, but he was usually too busy.”

Another door slides open in the room, and Hiroko walks in, followed by several attendants carrying trays. She sits, and food is placed on the table, followed by a pot of tea. A pair of ceramic chopsticks is set in front of each of them, and the attendants vanish as quickly as they’d come in.

Viktor opens his mouth to say something, closing it again when he realizes he’s not entirely sure how to address anyone. Mari had said he could use her name in private, but he isn’t sure if that means here with the staff just one room over, or just when they’re in a sitting room with the door closed. As it stands, they seem to be alone, but there might be people within earshot, and he purses his lips in a frown.

“Vitya?” Yuuri says gently. The nickname answers Viktor’s question. “Everything ok? Oh, god it’s the pork isn’t it?” He buries his face in his hands with a groan.

“What?”

“I forgot to ask if you keep kosher. Do you need something else to eat?”

“No, no, Yuuri, it's fine. I eat pork. I figured everything out.” He beams at Yuuri while Mari smiles at him from across the table. Hiroko pats his hand gently. 

“Have you had katsudon before, Vicchan?”

“No, I haven’t,” he says, smiling as he remembers Yuuri mentioning it in Russia. 

“It was Yuuri-kun’s favorite food as a child!” Hiroko says as Viktor takes his first bite.

His eyes widen. The pork melts in his mouth, flavor mixing with the egg and daishi and it’s an absolute  _ dream _ on his taste buds.

“This is amazing! I can see why he loves it so much!” Viktor exclaims, shoving another bite into his mouth. “I swear, it tastes like it was sent from heaven itself!”

Hiroko beams at him.

Yuuri tucks in enthusiastically, savoring each bite as it comes. After a minute, Viktor sees him look at his bowl, swallowing thickly.

“Lyubov?” Viktor says softly, reaching his hand towards Yuuri. Yuuri takes it, lacing their fingers together and giving a squeeze. “Are you…is something wrong?”

Yuuri shakes his head as a solitary tear makes its way down his cheek. “I just…I missed this, so much. Not katsudon, specifically, my bodyguard made it for me but…”

“Your mom’s?”

Yuuri nods, swallowing thickly before taking a deep breath. Mari and Hiroko share a glance as Yuuri collects himself. Viktor rubs the back of Yuuri's hand with his fingers, smiling at him softly. “Eat it before it gets cold, Yuuri,” he says, voice gentle. Yuuri's head jerks up, and his eyes fill with tears as he stares at Viktor. He looks back down at his bowl, swallowing thickly, before he clears his throat.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says flatly. There’s no emotion in his voice, no expression on his face, and he turns to meet Viktor’s eyes with such raw pain in his own it causes Viktor’s heart to skip a beat, and then he’s gone, scrambling quickly to run out of the room. The door slams behind him, Viktor can hear quick footsteps in the hall and before he knows it, Mari’s stood up as well.

“I’ll go find him,” she says softly, before she, too, leaves.

Viktor shifts uncomfortably, looking at Hiroko. “I should go too.”

His heart falls when she shakes her head. “Yuuri-kun is overwhelmed right now.”

“But still, if I can help him feel better I should.”

“Vicchan, where will you look for him?”

Pursing his lips, he stares at the queen mother.  _ Where would he go? _ Left is his best guess, based on Yuuri's footsteps. But then there are hallways, rooms, passages, and he has no experience navigating the palace. He’d be lucky if he made it from his room to Yuuri's without getting lost. Sighing, he looks at Hiroko. She nods, not unkindly, and clasps his hand in hers.

“Vicchan, he’ll be ok. Mari will take care of him.”

Viktor nods. He takes another few bites of his dinner. 

“Hiroko-san?”

“Yes?”

Viktor takes a deep breath. “What can I do? How can I help Yuuri?”

“Be honest with him, Vicchan. And be honest with yourself. For what it’s worth,” she says, eyes twinkling, “I've never gotten the impression Yuuri would have you anywhere but by his side.”

Frozen warmth spreads through Viktor, hope for his future with Yuuri warring with dread at what struggles they may have to face.

  
  


They’re sitting at the table when Mari returns alone. Hiroko gestures at an attendant, and fresh tea is brought out as Mari kneels at the table. “Yuuri’s in bed,” she says with a sigh. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Viktor asks curiously. 

“No,” she says, “he just… It’s his anxiety, he said.”

“Did he have another attack?”

She looks at him curiously, before her face fades into a sort of sad understanding. “Yeah. He was pretty much asleep when I left.”

Viktor’s phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it in favor of his tea. Hiroko and Mari share a long look over their own cups.

“Viktor?” Mari asks tentatively. He looks up, inquisitive as he takes another sip of tea. “Does this happen often?” She looks concerned, mouth twisted to the side.

“Not too often,” Viktor says, “just when he’s under a lot of stress.”

Mari huffs. “He’ll be under a lot of that,” she says, “especially over the next few days.”

Viktor’s phone vibrates again, and when he pulls it out of his pocket to look at the screen, Yuuri’s name flashes again with another text message. He swallows. A cursory glance at his mug tells him he’s almost finished, so he drains the last of it before failing to stifle a convenient yawn. 

“Vicchan,” the queen says, “please don’t stay up on our account if you need to sleep, you must be exhausted.”

“Thank you, Hiroko-san,” he replies, “I should probably head to bed. Should I expect someone to come set up the livestream again tomorrow?”

Nodding, Hiroko smiles softly. “Yes. They’ll be there about half an hour before the event starts to make sure everything’s connected alright.”

“Understood.” Viktor smiles as he stands. “The food was wonderful, and the company better,” he says. “I’ll see you both tomorrow?”

They nod in unison. “Goodnight, Vicchan,” Hiroko says warmly.

“Good night,” he responds. Mari gives a wave and he heads out, pulling his shoes on without tying them and taking out his phone when he closes the door behind him.

 

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   sorry about that.**  
**< <<   if you want, you can come to my room when you’re done**  
**< <<   only if you want thought i understand if you don’t**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’ll come! I was going to change into pajamas, unless you want me there right now.**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   that’s fine! that’s ok.**  
**< <<   if you don’t want to come that’s fine too**  
**< <<   up to you.**

 

Viktor runs his fingers through his hair as he tries to figure out where in the palace he is, exactly. Seeing a picture he remembers passing with Yuuri, he heads in that direction. Yuuri’s clearly anxious still, clearly feeling like an imposition judging by the amount of times he gave Viktor an out. He turns down another vaguely familiar-looking corridor, but doesn’t see anything distinctive.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’ll be there soon. I’m trying to figure out how to get back to my room, the palace is very confusing.**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   lol. i still get vaguely confused sometimes (Θ︹Θ)ს**  
**< <<   it’s easier to follow the attendants when they’re escorting me**  
**< <<   do you need me to come find you?**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   No, I should be able to do it.**  
**> >>   … Can you tell me how to get there? (￣▽￣;)ゞ **

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   [photo attached] your room is across from this painting of my grandpa**  
**< <<   not directly across, but like**  
**< <<   a few feet down. it’s the only door nearby**

 

Continuing down the hallway, Viktor scans the walls in search of the painting. He looks down each hallway as he passes, almost missing the right one, seeing the painting just before he looks away. He makes it successfully to his room, changes, and pulls out his phone as he’s closing the door behind him. 

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Now how do I get to your room? **

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   lol.**  
**< <<   turn right out of your room  (o^^)o**  
**< <<   down the hall turn right again (o^^)o**  
**< <<   left down the first hall after that  o(^^o)**  
**< <<   you should see all the paintings**  
**< <<   the ones of my predecessors? **  
**< <<   i’m at the very end  \\(^O^)/**

 

With renewed determination, he follows the directions, sighing with relief when he sees the portrait-lined hallway. Jogging the last half, he comes to a stop in front of the carved wooden door. He knocks, and the door is opened quickly by Yuuri, eyes swollen red and his hair disheveled. He’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt under a lined silk robe, and he smiles when Viktor waves, stepping aside to let him in. 

Once the door is closed, Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor, burying his face in his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it, Lyubov?” Yuuri shakes his head. “Tea?” A shrug. “We have sleepytime, I think.” A moment of hesitation, and then a nod. “Would you like me to make it for you?” Holding his breath, he looks down at Yuuri, hoping he didn’t overdo it. To his relief, Yuuri nods into his shoulder. He smiles, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, whispering promises of comfort and tea while he tries not to think about how little he can truly do in the face of such an overwhelming, abrupt change.

 

Laying in Viktor’s arms under the covers, Yuuri absently runs his finger down his chest. He’s been almost silent since they had their tea, saying only a few words after they brushed their teeth. It’s impossible to tell what’s on his mind, as deep in thought as he is, and Viktor feels himself starting to drift off when he notices a tear sliding down the side of Yuuri’s face. He kisses his forehead. 

“I'm not ready for this, Vityusha,” Yuuri says quietly, with little inflection. “I'm not ready to rule.”

There’s really nothing to say in response to that, so Viktor lays another kiss on Yuuri’s forehead, holding it for a moment before he pulls back. The tears flow faster now, Viktor’s heart aches in sympathy and he wishes desperately that there was something,  _ anything _ he could do to ease Yuuri’s mind. He’s never felt so helpless, so  _ useless.  _

“How am I supposed to do this?” Yuuri says, voice thick with emotion and shaky with fear. “How… how am I supposed to lead? I… I was trained, yeah, but I don’t have any  _ experience. _ I've never… I was supposed to start working with my dad years ago, training under him, seeing- seeing how he ruled, but now…” voice catching in his throat, Yuuri stifles a sob. “How am I supposed to do this when the only person I can ask for advice, the only person who would understand is- is  _ dead?” _ He sounds so lost, so broken, Viktor feels himself on the verge of crying as well.

Pulling Yuuri close, he kisses the top of his head. “Would your mother have advice?” Anxiety thrums in the back of his mind again. It's been a near constant presence since the airport, but now it’s pushing at his mental barriers, threatening to crash through him with the barest provocation. 

“She m-might, but… She’s never had to  _ rule _ and Mari wasn't ever t-trained because lineage is patriarchal and I—” a choked sob cuts him off as he clings to Viktor. Shaking, he cries into Viktor’s shoulder. 

“I'm here, Lyubov. You don’t have to get through this alone.”

“How am I supposed to- to go through the coronation and not… How do I just look like I'm  _ fine _ when I'm  _ not?”  _ He pulls back, looking up at Viktor with a tear-stained face. 

“I'll be watching,” Viktor says softly. “I'll be watching, stay strong for me if that’s what you need to do.” He hates this, hates that he can’t go, but even if he could, he wouldn’t be allowed to hold Yuuri. Wouldn’t be allowed to comfort him, not in the ways he’d need. Somehow, it seems like it would be worse to be there, to be so maddeningly close but unable to help. 

Yuuri shifts to lay closer to him, nodding into his shoulder. “Watch me,” he says, “please. Don’t take your eyes off me, Vitya.”

“Not once, Lyubov,” he says into Yuuri’s hair. “I'll watch until it’s over, and I'll be here when you get home.”

“I love you so much,” he rasps. “Vityusha I love you so  _ much.” _

“I love you, too,” Viktor replies, running his fingers through the hairs at the base of Yuuri’s neck. Still trembling, Yuuri pulls himself closer to Viktor, entwining their legs under the blankets as he does his best to breathe. He’s terrified, it’s clear, and the only choice he has, aside from being crowned king tomorrow, is abdication before his reign begins. It’s never been mentioned as an option before, though, and Yuuri seems determined to follow through.

Still, being trapped like this, having only one real option… Viktor’s felt trapped before, felt stifled by his fame, his career, the expectations Russia has placed on his shoulders, but he’s never truly not had a way out. At any point he could have retired and now, with all the money he’s put away and carefully invested, he could and live comfortably for the rest of his life. He’d be lying if he said a small part of him wasn’t wondering if he  _ should. _ Even so, Yuuri doesn’t  _ have _ that out, doesn’t have that option, and he’s not so sure Yuuri wouldn’t blame himself for Viktor’s retirement.

He pulls the blanket higher up the bed, covering their shoulders, and when he pulls back to say goodnight, Yuuri’s already asleep. Tear tracks stain his face, his eyes are puffy and his nose is red, but he looks to be at peace, untroubled by what tomorrow brings, and as he snuggles closer with the barest hint of a smile, Viktor can’t help but hold him tightly.

Tomorrow will be another day of watching and waiting while Yuuri braves his birthright, but he knows Yuuri can get through it, and he knows he’ll be at the palace when Yuuri returns, ready and waiting with a mug of tea and love on his lips. Settling in, he pulls Yuuri’s head just a bit closer, to kiss love into his slumber, and he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

They just have to get through tomorrow. 

 

~*~

 

They wake in each other’s arms, the chill of the morning biting at their cheeks and the backs of their necks as they huddle close. Despite having slept, Yuuri has massive dark circles under his eyes, a deep purple that screams exhaustion. They take turns in the shower, Yuuri letting Viktor go first in favor of getting a few more minutes of rest. As Yuuri curls back into the blankets it strikes Viktor once again just how  _ young _ he is. It makes the sinking pit in his stomach worse when he remembers the imminent coronation.

_ “I’m not ready for this, Vityusha.” _ Yuuri’s voice had been empty, devoid of emotion at first, and it comes to mind with jarring clarity. 

Running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, combing through the tangles and straightening the bedhead as best he can, Viktor makes his way to the bathroom. He’s grateful for the warmed tile under his feet as he strips down, putting his clothing in the concealed hamper hidden cleverly in a small cupboard. Plush towels are hung over the warming rack, already turned on via some sort of remotely controlled system, and the heat radiates throughout the room, chasing the winter cold away. 

Yuuri’s bathroom never fails to impress him, from the sheer size of it, much larger than Viktor’s at home, to the carved sinks and the massive bathtub set into a corner near the window. The view of the grounds is incredible, and gauzy curtains provide privacy while still allowing natural light to fill the space. The shower warms quickly and he steps in, allowing the water to cascade over his head and shoulders, letting the heat ease his tense muscles. 

_ “I’m not ready to rule.” _ The way Yuuri said it made it sound less like a concern and more like a statement of fact. A painful lump forms in the back of Viktor’s throat. While he washes his hair, he does his best to blink back the burning tears in his eyes.  _ He’s _ not the one getting crowned today.  _ He _ isn’t the one being forced into a birthright he’s not ready for.  _ Viktor _ isn’t the one who was denied the ability to be honest, to get genuine comfort from the people he loved the most. When he thinks about it, though, he’d been denied the opportunity to  _ give _ that comfort. He’d tried his best over the past few months, desperately trying everything he could think of to encourage Yuuri, to ease his worries, but the comfort he knew to offer was entirely different from the comfort Yuuri had needed.

All of his reassurance, that he loves Yuuri, that he has faith in him must have just felt worse in light of what was happening, the forced deception upon which Yuuri’s life had apparently depended, and all Viktor had been able to do was to watch the emotional fallout. Eyes burning, throat growing tighter by the second, he soaps up a washcloth, running it quickly, harshly across his body. There’s no reason he should be crying, no reason he should be sad… but he has every reason in the world to be  _ angry. _

Angry at being denied the opportunity to  _ do _ something. Angry at the idea of Yuuri being forced to hide such an integral part of himself, being unable to get the reassurance he truly needed and had so  _ desperately  _ wanted.  _ “It’s not like you’re telling me what you  _ do _ need!” _ Viktor had shouted. The words must have cut deep, the guilt he’d seen on Yuuri’s face shortly after too raw for it to have been otherwise. His promises that he loved Yuuri, that he’d stay with him… Yuuri had every reason to doubt them, every reason to believe Viktor would end things. Every reason to believe that Viktor would find him to be too much to deal with, in a cruel twist of irony.

He’s surprised to find a bottle of his face wash sitting next to Yuuri’s. He has his own in his room, half-empty and battered from travel, but this one is new. Yuuri must have been anticipating Viktor using his shower at some point. The gesture brings a smile to his face, but one that fades quickly. Being truly honest with himself, Viktor’s forced to admit that this new dynamic in their relationship, this new information he has, is daunting.

He’s never been one to back down from a challenge, though, and Yuuri… Yuuri is worth the fight.

 

The towels are warm as he dries himself, the bathrobe soft against his skin as he ties it around his waist. Running his hand over his chin, he feels new growth, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. There are no razors to be found, and he doesn’t quite feel comfortable raiding Yuuri’s toiletry bag, wherever it may be, so shaving is going to have to wait. Yuuri’s still asleep when he gets out, curled around a pillow. Groggy as Viktor got up to shower, he’d asked to be woken when Viktor was done, so Viktor sits near him on the bed, smiles at the trail of drool leading to the pillow, and gently shakes his shoulder. Yuuri merely groans, rolling over and pulling the blankets with him, so Viktor moves to the other side before repeating the the gesture. At that, Yuuri slowly blinks his eyes, squinting into the sunlight coming in through the windows behind Viktor.

“You showered?” he asks, throat hoarse. Viktor nods.

“I did. The water pressure here is perfect!” He tries to smile, and Yuuri smiles in return.

As is customary, Yuuri grumbles about having to be up so early as he drags himself from the bed to shower. Viktor dries off and changes, lets in an attendant delivering coffee and pastries, and is on his phone at the table when Yuuri walks into the sitting room. He’s wearing clean sweats and a t-shirt to eat in, not wanting to risk coffee on the formal robes he’ll don for the ceremony. Sitting next to Viktor, he leans on him as he prepares his coffee. Viktor takes a sip of his own. They eat in comfortable silence, for the most part, though there’s a tense undercurrent. It’s impossible to ignore the coronation. Impossible for either of them to forget, even for a second, what Yuuri faces.

Yuuri sighs deeply as he pours a second cup, adding cream and sugar slowly, but with purpose. Viktor rubs his back. The tension only grows as Yuuri glances repeatedly at the clock, turning his mug in his hands until Viktor reminds him to actually  _ drink _ the coffee. When his phone goes off, Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat and his hands shake as he silences it. The dregs of his coffee are drained, the last of a chocolate croissant shoved into his mouth, and Yuuri stands. Viktor keeps his arm around Yuuri’s waist as they walk to the door, lays a kiss on his forehead when Yuuri hugs him, and, when Yuuri leaves, swallows the impulse to call him back, to pull him into the room and under the covers and hide him away from the world.

It’s starting to feel like neither of them have much choice in anything, and it’s with that thought running through his head that he grabs his phone and jacket, and prepares to meet Yuuri outside before the ceremony.

 

~*~

 

When Viktor sees Yuuri next, standing near the carriage that will take him to the ceremonial front gates of the palace, he’s absolutely resplendent. His formal robes are a deep green, the thick cloak he’s wearing included, complimenting the emeralds set into the golden circlet he’s wearing. The crown they will use in the ceremony follows the same color scheme, though it’s far more elaborate. Yuuri’s black undershirt only serves to emphasize his hands, long fingers moving through the air as he gestures at his sister. He nods when Viktor approaches.

“Mr. Nikiforov, hello,” Yuuri says with an attempt at a smile. His nose is slightly red at the tip with cold and Viktor strongly resists the urge to kiss it.

“Your Majesty,” Viktor says. He looks at Mari and nods. “Your Highness.”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she replies, demure. She, too, is dressed in a rich green, her kimono simple but elegant. The ornamentation in her hair matches the color scheme of Yuuri’s circlet.

“Have you come to see me off?” Yuuri asks. He’s putting on a brave face, enough to fool most people, but not Viktor. Viktor can see the near-terror in his eyes, the way he chews on the inside of his lip when he’s not speaking or pretending to smile, and he wishes, not for the first time, that there weren’t so many  _ rules _ about when and how he can comfort his boyfriend. He settles for a kind smile.

“I have,” he says. Yuuri’s not going far, just to a different area of the (admittedly large) palace, but he’ll be taken to the gates first, before walking from there all the way through to the throne room, where he’ll be crowned. Viktor has yet to see it. His tour hadn’t taken him through the showier areas of the palace, the grandeur made to be seen at events and state functions, to emphasize the family’s status. He suspects Yuuri’d rather give that tour himself. 

As Yuuri glances around at the staff and guards in the area nervously, his lip starts trembling and his posture stiffens in an attempt to avoid curling in on himself. Mari looks at him, sighing softly before clearing her throat. Staff and guards all stop what they’re doing, turning towards her. “If you could all turn around, please? Give us a moment of privacy?”

Within moments, all backs are to them. Viktor hears Yuuri whisper a “thank you” before he feels his arms wrap around him. Yuuri’s careful to keep his face off Viktor’s clothing, not wanting to ruin the hard work of the makeup artist, but he clings to Viktor just the same. Pulling Yuuri close, Viktor lays a kiss on his temple, rubs his back as he holds him. Trembling ever-so-slightly, Yuuri takes deep breaths in an attempt to steel himself for the coronation. They stand together in silence for a moment, taking what comfort they can from each other’s presence, the small bit of warmth in the literal and metaphorical cold, but all too soon, Mari taps both of them gently on the shoulder.

“Yuuri, it’s time,” she says, the barest hesitation in her voice.

Fists clench against Viktor’s back, Yuuri gripping his sweater tightly before pulling away. Pulling out a pack of tissues, Viktor takes one and starts dabbing gently at Yuuri’s eyes. “You can do this, Velichestvo,” he says. Yuuri merely nods, biting his lip. Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s nose brings the ghost of a smile. A gentle kiss to his lips widens it before it vanishes. “I’ll be here when you finish. I’ll even make you tea if that’s what you’d like.”

Yuuri nods, moving a hand to wipe his face with his sleeve before catching sight of the deep green fabric and remembering his makeup. He settles for wringing his hands, looking up at Viktor with another fleeting smile. “Sneaky, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor grins, sharing a glance with Mari. “They can’t get mad at me if I’m just using my native language.” Leaning in, he whispers in the shell of Yuuri’s ear, “it can be our little secret that it’s a substitute for a certain other word in Russian, _ Lyubov.”  _ There’s a small gasp, and a genuine smile comes over Yuuri’s face. It, like the others, is brief, but it warms Viktor’s heart regardless. He grins, laying another kiss on Yuuri’s lips. 

_ “Very _ sneaky, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri says, before kissing Viktor once more and backing away.  Mari gives permission for the staff to resume their duties, and Yuuri shares a long look with Viktor before he’s swept into the carriage, followed shortly by Hiroko and Mari. Before he’s taken away, Viktor sees Yuuri pull out the lip balm and apply it gently to his lips, smacking them with a sigh.

Viktor turns back to the palace. 

 

~*~

 

_ “I’m not ready to rule.” _ Yuuri had sounded so incredibly sure of himself, and it’s those words that have been playing on repeat in the back of Viktor’s mind while he waits for the broadcast to start. He’s sitting in his bedroom this time, his computer open on the small table, a one-person coffee service taking up the rest of the space. A carafe, cream and sugar in china on a shining silver tray sit next to a small selection of cookies and biscotti. He picks one up, almond, and takes a bite.

A message pops up on the screen, warning him that there are only a few minutes until the ceremony begins, and he leans forward in his seat. There will be another processional, Yuuri walking this time across the grounds of the palace. Rich blue carpet is laid out leading to the palace, the path lined by guards. As the carriage pulls up and Yuuri gets out, the guards salute with a shout while the crowd erupts into whispers. This is only Yuuri’s second official public appearance since he was eight, he’d said when they discussed things with his mother, and it’s clear the country is clamoring for a look at him. After greeting the crowd, Yuuri begins to make the long walk towards the palace, flanked by Mari and Hiroko. The guards hold their salute, the crowd bows as he passes, and Yuuri’s jaw clenches. The amount of attention, the  _ type  _ of attention he’s getting must be making his nerves even worse. Despite this, Yuuri keeps his eyes forward, fixed firmly on the building in front of him.

Compared to what Viktor knows of coronations which is, admittedly, not much, Yuuri’s seems to be a simple affair. A solemn occasion as Yuuri accepts both the crown and responsibility for the future of his people. He makes his way up the palace’s front staircase slowly. Regally. As if he has more right than anyone to be walking this path, and he  _ does, _ Viktor realizes in a sudden jolt of clarity. The Royal Guard, still standing at attention along the staircase, only serve to emphasize this fact. With this on his shoulders, it’s no wonder Yuuri’d had such a keen understanding of Viktor’s need to be treated normally. Yuuri greets the crowd before entering the palace proper, and the video cuts to an interior shot. Yuuri makes his way through a grand entrance hall, stopping to allow his heavy overcoat to be removed, and into the imposing throne room, the symbolic center of Sachima’s government. The assembled crowd is no one Viktor recognizes, though all are dressed formally, and all eyes are on Yuuri as he walks to the dais. Since Yuuri’s gotten into the carriage, there’s been not one moment that he wasn’t under heavy scrutiny, and Viktor would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about how Yuuri’s going to come out of this.

Yuuri makes his way down the center aisle much in the same way he’s walked the entire distance so far. There’s a change in camera once Yuuri reaches the dais at the end of the room, and for the first time, Viktor sees the throne. It’s a solid seat of power, cherrywood and intricate metalwork blended together subtly, but in a way that draws the eye. In and of itself, it’s impossible to ignore, but behind it is Yuuri’s family crest. Large and imposing, it dominates the wall, emphasizing the throne. Yuuri comes to stand in front of it, and it serves only to emphasize  _ him. _ Whoever designed the throne room knew what they were doing, how to draw the eye. Much of the ceremony consists of Yuuri standing, listening to officials read off various responsibilities of his while he promises to uphold them, to rule justly and with grace. Viktor is grateful for the captions in his native Russian, translating the Sachiman Japanese used in the ceremony.

“As King,” a woman says, “it is expected that the welfare of your people, the integrity of your kingdom, will be of utmost priority.”

“I understand,” Yuuri replies, “and I humbly commit to serving the nation of Akitsushima, to serving my people, at whatever cost is necessary, until the end of my reign.”

Yuuri is stubborn, Viktor knows this. Yuuri has integrity, takes his promises seriously, and today he’s promising to put his duty above himself, even as the officials surrounding him nod in satisfaction. Viktor would be lying if he said it didn’t just add to the ever-present worry in the back of his mind. There’s another speech, detailing the history of the Royal Family, reminding Yuuri of the legacy that is his to uphold, the next in an unbroken line of kings going back centuries. Particular emphasis is put on the sovereignty of the nation after its fight for independence, a reminder that Yuuri is a symbol of that as well. Grandson of the man who took the nation back, Yuuri is much closer to such a pivotal point in Sachima’s history than Viktor had realized. Yuuri had likely  _ known _ the man, if he’d been old enough to be present at his father’s coronation dinner. The camera stays with wide shots, so it’s difficult to read Yuuri’s expression beyond the somber mask he’s putting on for the world. An attendant in ceremonial clothing comes forward with a green velvet cushion, on top of which is a large golden crown. It’s tall, intricate, and encrusted with emeralds on each of the many points. Yuuri, still standing, faces the rest of the hall, looking over the room as someone comes up behind him, taking the circlet carefully from his head and moving quickly aside. Slowly, Yuuri lowers himself onto the throne in a graceful, practiced move. The jut of his chin stirs something in Viktor before it dawns on him.

_ He’s turned it into a performance, _ Viktor realizes.  _ Instead of going through the motions of a ceremony, he’s performing them for an audience. _ He wonders if it’s for the benefit of the crowd, or some sort of coping mechanism. Or both, even. Viktor knows well how much easier it is to be in the public eye when you’re wearing a mask, when observers only  _ think _ they’re seeing the real you. The same determined glint stays in Yuuri’s eyes as he gazes stonily ahead while a man in a traditional hakama and haori moves behind him with the larger crown. Subtly chewing the inside of his lip, Yuuri’s fists tighten on the armrests, the tips of his fingers going white if the camera is to be trusted. His eye twitches as the crown is lowered onto his head, his shoulders settling with the weight of it as he raises his chin just slightly.

He looks born to wear it, something about the way he’s holding himself incredibly self-assured, projecting a distinct air of authority, even as Viktor sees him take a hitched breath. It’s clear how good Yuuri is at playing his part, how much practice he has putting a mask on for the world. Knowing of the decade and a half Yuuri spent in hiding, Viktor is still more surprised than he thought he'd have been. 

When a booming voice declares him King, Yuuri’s posture straightens further. Much of the audience is off-camera, but the small group of people Viktor can see prostrate themselves while the guards bow their heads. He assumes the entire room is following suit. Those on the dais bow deeply, Mari and Hiroko included, and as Yuuri’s gaze traces over the sea of people, he looks oddly detached. His expression is very much the same, but his eyes have lost that look of fierce determination in favor of a distant gaze.

He’s in the middle of a full-blown anxiety attack, and there’s nothing Viktor can do to help. No steps Yuuri can take to calm down, not in front of his people. Not in front of the world, watching much as Viktor is through the lenses of cameras. The hum of anxiety, of fear and trepidation makes itself known again, that eerie feeling of wrongness seeps through his core as Viktor stares at the screen. He hardly knows what the next speeches are about, eyes fixed on Yuuri instead of reading the captions. It’s hard to watch, even though Yuuri doesn’t do much. Harder still when Viktor remembers they’re technically in the same building, that he could  _ be there _ if only he knew how to  _ get _ there, propriety be damned. Even if he  _ could _ have gone, though, he’d still be permitted nowhere near Yuuri. Nowhere near the throne.

He’d still be just as useless as he is sitting in his rooms. On-screen, Yuuri’s eyes flicker towards the camera, as if looking at Viktor. Yuuri knows he’s watching, Viktor promised he would do so. Yuuri’s doing his best to be strong, because he doesn’t have a choice, he has to appear unshakeable as the new sovereign. Because anything less is not  _ enough.  _ Because Viktor is watching.

_ “Watch me, Vityusha,” _ he’d said, and Viktor does. Through the final speeches, as Yuuri walks to the staircase and greets his people, golden crown perched firmly on his head. He watches while Yuuri’s joined by his family, taking a moment to stand proudly before the crowd assembled. He watches as they wave, as Yuuri offers a smile looking, for all the world, like he’s comfortable, like he wasn’t sobbing into Viktor’s chest last night, terrified of exactly this moment. Yuuri leads the processional back to the carriage, walking proudly down the same blue carpet with the same impeccable posture. Viktor notices large screens on either side of the crowd, broadcasting Yuuri’s movements and, presumably, having shown the coronation live. Camera angles on the way in had hidden them from Viktor’s view, somehow, but there’s no way Yuuri had missed them. No way Yuuri could ignore that the eyes of a nation are fixed firmly on him. The eyes of countless unnamed people across the globe. 

Yuuri climbs gracefully into the carriage once he reaches it, getting ready for the procession around the city. As the new King, it’s a ceremonial gesture of greeting, of acknowledgment and connection with his subjects, and cameras pan over a wide shot of the people lining the streets. The crowd is ten, twenty people thick in places, and the procession, similar to the one just before the funeral, stretches for several kilometers, winding its way through the city’s historic center, around the false castle on the hill near the ocean, and down the main avenues. Every time Yuuri is on-screen he has his head held high, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Viktor watches, keeps the livestream going on his computer, but he pulls out the stack of paperwork for his new security clearance and his favorite pen.  The carafe of coffee keeps him company as he fills out each form in painstaking detail, and it’s little effort to poke his head out of his room and ask a passing attendant for a refill. He’d normally prefer to get it himself, if not  _ make _ it himself (or ask Yuuri to do it, and it’s so strange to remember him as a barista even if it’s only been three days since Viktor had learned the truth,) but as it is, he has no idea where to even  _ start _ looking for the kitchens. The coffee is delivered in short order; the empty carafe, dirty mug and serving dishes whisked away with barely a word.

 

~*~

 

When Viktor sees Yuuri again, near the rear steps of the palace, he’s almost in a daze. He’s responding to people well enough, allowing the ceremonial crown to be taken off his head and polished before the impromptu photo shoot. It’s a nice day outside, and the palace windows are letting the light in well, so the Royal Family’s official photographers want to take advantage to get additional, posed pictures of the King on his coronation day, rather than waiting a day or two as is tradition. Viktor just wants to wrap him in a blanket, shove him in the bedroom so he’s no longer under the scrutiny of the public, the staff, or anyone really.

Mari and Hiroko stand nearby, glancing concernedly at Yuuri from time to time. They seemingly can’t see the extent of his panic, and when Viktor gives it some thought it’s understandable. They don’t  _ know _ Yuuri. They can’t see the tiny signals he’s sending, how he chews his lip, how his thumbs constantly rub his knuckles as he tries to calm himself. They keep talking to him, and he’s reduced to nodding or shaking his head when he can, or offering answers of as few words as possible when more input is required. Hiroko reaches out and touches him, surprised when his arm jerks back. Yuuri rubs the spot she'd made contact with. Confused, concerned, Hiroko glances between her two children. Viktor approaches Mari slowly. 

“Your Highness,” he says softly, “a word please? Now?”

Nodding, Mari turns and walks a few feet away. “What is it, Mr. Nikiforov?” she asks, glancing back at her little brother. Viktor takes a breath.

“Your Highness, I understand that they need pictures of Y- His Majesty soon, but at the moment he needs some time away from the cameras. Away from _ everyone.”  _ Glancing back over, it’s easy to see Yuuri still smiling as best he can, but it’s clear he’s not improving.

“Right now, Viktor?”

Looking at Mari, he nods. “Yes, Your Highness. Right now.”

Her eyes search Viktor’s face for something, some answer to an unasked question, but she merely sighs in agreement. “I will take care of things. You… you go take care of Yuuri. Take care of my little brother.”

“I promise, Your Highness,” he says. “I will.”

Mari walks over, pulling a group of people aside in a hushed whisper while Viktor makes his way to Yuuri. Taking Yuuri’s hand at this point would likely send him running, so Viktor moves in front of him, speaking gently.

“Velichestvo,” he says softly. “Velichestvo, please, look at me.”

Slowly, Yuuri’s eyes come to meet Viktor’s, before darting down to his chin, following the line of his jaw.

“Velichestvo, come with me. Let’s go sit in your rooms and have a cup of tea.”

Yuuri makes eye contact again, his gaze somehow detached, even as he nods. Viktor takes a few steps towards the palace, before looking back to see Yuuri frozen in place, his mouth gaping as he stares at the floor. Approaching him again, Viktor gets as close as he can, without making contact.

“Lyubov,” he says in a whisper too soft to be heard by anyone else. “Yuuri.” and Yuuri’s eyes come back up to meet his. He holds out his hand. “Here. Let’s get you back to your rooms.”

Slowly, Yuuri reaches out and takes his hand. Mari’s eyes widen when she sees, but when she looks at Viktor, she merely closes them and nods. Hiroko does the same, worry etched into her brow as Viktor and Yuuri walk past. They make their way up the stairs, into the palace proper. Once they reach the residential area, Viktor leans over.

“Can I put my arm around you?”

Hesitating for a second, Yuuri shakes his head, squeezing Viktor’s hand. Returning the squeeze earns Viktor a brief smile, and they walk in silence. When they’ve finally made it into Yuuri’s rooms, they both remove their footwear in the entryway, setting the shoes neatly to the side. Yuuri walks further into the room, holding himself as he glances fervently around. As Viktor approaches, he turns, and there’s a tear running down his face as his eyes flit across the room in front of him, searching for something unknown, perhaps something to pull his attention away from the morning’s events.

“Would making tea help, Lyubov?” Viktor asks gently.

Glancing at the kettle he’s had left in his room, Yuuri frowns before shaking his head. His fingers are running through and over each other, rubbing the backs of his hands, his arms, his thumbs massaging the muscles in his palms and wrists. It’s rare he’s too anxious to make tea, and this is about the point Viktor would be calling Phichit to come over if they were still in Detroit.

_ “Go ahead and ask, but if I say no, don’t push it.” _ Yuuri’s advice in mind, Viktor decides to go the questioning route. It seems easier for Yuuri to answer questions than to say what he needs at this point, and if he keeps them simple, it should be okay. He hopes it’ll be okay.

“Would you like me to make tea?” Yuuri nods. Viktor does his best to smile reassuringly, grateful he’s not messing things up further. “Do you have a preference?” Yuuri only offers a shrug, so Viktor looks through the teas available. 

“We have a rose green, if you’d like? It’s one of your favorites, right?”

Yuuri frowns before walking into his bedroom. He returns shortly with a familiar-looking box, the teas Viktor had gotten him in St. Petersburg.  _ He hadn’t been planning on going back, it seems. _ Viktor swallows thickly, steadfastly avoiding wondering how long Yuuri had been preparing for the possibility. Their last date, to the park with Makkachin, had felt like a goodbye, now that he sees it for what it was. At the time, he’d blamed anxiety about the trip. He was more right than he’d guessed, though for the wrong reasons. Setting the box on the table, Yuuri sighs as his eyes scan over the tins inside. It's not long before his breathing quickens, his eyes flitting from tin to tin, label to label, endlessly searching as he makes and reconsiders his choices constantly.

“Lyubov,” Viktor says, a bit louder than necessary. Yuuri’s eyes snap to him, wide and shining. “Do you want me to choose?” He walks forward, coming to a stop about two feet away. “Do you need me to make the choice right now?”

Biting his lower lip, Yuuri nods. Viktor swallows a sigh of relief, that he guessed right, that he managed to do something for Yuuri, that he hadn’t botched everything up. He smiles. “Alright Lyubov, I'll find something good. Do you want caffeine?” When Yuuri nods, Viktor smiles again. “Why don’t you go get in your pajamas? Comfort is key and you don't want to wrinkle your good clothing.”

Looking down, Yuuri nods once more. He heads into the bedroom, stopping at the door and turning back. Viktor looks at him, offering a grin, and the response is a mere facsimile, the barest attempt at a smile plastered across Yuuri's lips before he vanishes into the bedroom. Viktor looks at the teas in front of him, eyes scanning the labels before coming to rest on a coconut green similar to one Yuuri’d pointed out as one of his favorites.  _ Perfect.  _ He grabs it, turning the kettle on before measuring leaves into the teapot. 

 

Yuuri shuffles into the room in flannel pants and a sweater. He looks more comfortable, bundled up and wearing his glasses. Slowly, he makes his way to a small cupboard, opening it to reveal a mini refrigerator. Grabbing a bottle of water, he then gravitates towards Viktor, sitting a foot or so away. He eyes the teapot on the table, before sighing and pulling a small pill bottle out of his jacket. Shaking, he opens it and dumps a pill in his hand. After breaking it in half, he puts one piece back into the bottle and closes it, before popping the other in his mouth, following it with a large gulp of water. He sets both bottles on the coffee table before pulling his knees to his chest.

Breathing deeply, Yuuri closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his knees. “It’s for the anxiety,” he says quietly after a moment. “The pill.” He turns to meet Viktor’s eyes, getting a reassuring smile in return.

“Is it a new prescription?”

“No,” he sighs, “I just haven’t… it’s never felt bad enough to need it, really.”

Viktor’s eyes widen as he thinks about the last few months. “What changed?” he asks before he can stop himself, and he winces when Yuuri goes still.

It’s a long, tense moment before Yuuri lets out the breath he’d been holding. “M-Mari,” he says softly. “Last night. She reminded me I… Vitya, I can’t afford to be anything less than at my best. Especially not now. She suggested I start taking them when I  _ might  _ need them, rather than waiting for it to get ‘bad enough.’ It’s less tiring in the long run.” He glances at the teapot on the table, the cups sitting next to it and sighs again.

“Would you like me to pour your tea?” Viktor asks gently. “I’m sure it’s ready by now.”

Yuuri shakes his head. Leaning forward, he pours his own cup of tea before looking back at Viktor with his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“Please, Lyubov, if you don’t mind.”

A frown flickers across Yuuri’s face, but he pours the tea anyway, offering the cup and saucer to Viktor. Taking it, Viktor inhales deeply. He isn’t usually a fan of coconut, but Yuuri’s affinity for coconut flavored teas has resulted in Viktor having a few he enjoys. Coconut green is one of them. 

Yuuri’s hands are still shaking, though it’s lessened considerably, and he closes his eyes. Several deep breaths later, he sips his tea slowly before using one hand to massage the back of his neck. 

“Everything alright?” Viktor asks. “If you have a headache, I can find painkillers.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri takes another long drink of his tea. “My neck is just sore,” he says softly. “The crown they had me wearing weighs several pounds… a couple of kilograms,” he says. “It hurts after a bit. ‘M not used to it.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to wear the crown every day,” Viktor says. “It sounds exhausting.”

Yuuri stares into the mostly-empty teacup he’s holding. “I do,” he says softly, “when I’m dealing with people outside of the  _ private  _ residential areas. Most other royal families save them for special occasions, yeah, but… here it’s ‘tradition.’ The crowns for daily use are smaller and lighter. Still heavy, since they’re metal, but not nearly as much as the ceremonial ones. Fewer gemstones, too.” He gulps down the last of the tea in his cup. “I might try to talk people down to circlets, at least at the palace.”

“When  _ do _ you wear circlets?” What’s the use of having them if Yuuri’s never going to wear them?

“When I’m out of the country, usually,” Yuuri replies as he pours another cup of tea. “My father used to have at least four or five cases with him every time we traveled, each holding a crown or circlet or whatever, depending on what was happening. My mother as well. It was a hassle, I’m sure, but if I go to an event or go meet people or something, I’ll be wearing one. You know, just in case people forget who I  _ am _ somehow.” Yawning, Yuuri leans against the back of the couch. “The crowns would just be worn at state dinners or something fancy-schmancy like that.”

“You look tired,” Viktor says softly. Yuuri seems to have washed off the makeup as well. He’s paler, the circles under his eyes have returned with a vengeance.

Yuuri looks over, nodding slowly. “Anxiety is exhausting. My meds make me tired, too. Mari’s going to hate me,” he says, frowning.

“Why would she hate you?”

“The pictures,” he replies. “They wanted to get pictures.” It’s clear Yuuri’s worried, but exhaustion is softening his voice.

“They can get pictures tomorrow,” Viktor says.

“I’ve cleared my schedule tomorrow. And the next day.”

“They'll get their pictures later, then. Mari’s not going to hate you for having anxiety, and your mother said they usually wait a few days to get the official portraits.”

Yuuri nods slowly. “I figure tomorrow would be a good day to talk, you know. I’ll probably know what the laws are,” he says around a yawn, “and what hoops we’d have to jump through.”

Viktor raises his arm, smiling as Yuuri takes a few gulps of tea, sets the cup on the table, and moves closer, nestling himself against Viktor’s side. “Vitya?” Yuuri says after a second.

“Yes?”

“I’ll understand, you know. If you don’t want this.” Slurring his words, Yuuri is clearly growing more tired by the second. “It’s too much. It’s all too much. I know that.”

_ “It’s not,” _ Viktor wants to say.  _ “It won’t be.” _ Saying so would feel too close to lying for comfort, though. It’d be more accurate to say Viktor doesn’t  _ want _ it to be too much, that he hopes desperately that he’ll be able to handle this, will be able to stay with the man he loves. He can’t bring himself to make a promise he doesn’t know he can keep. He can’t bring himself to be complicit in his own destruction again, even for Yuuri. No matter how badly he wants to.

Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s temple, Viktor shakes him gently. “Come, Lyubov,” he says, “we can talk about this tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”

Yuuri pouts. “The couch is fine.”

“If it’s anything like the couch in my room, you’ll wake up sore. I know from experience! You really should go to bed, I’ll be able to cuddle with you, there.” Forcing a bit of cheer into his voice, he tries to be encouraging.

Frowning, Yuuri looks up at him as if considering his choices. He yawns again, rubbing his eyes under his glasses before eyeing the couch next to him. When he looks back up at Viktor, it’s with a face that says he’d rather face discomfort than move  _ at all, _ and Viktor does his best not to sigh in exasperation.

“Yuuri,” Viktor admonishes, drawing the word out, “you really should sleep in your bed so you can wake up refreshed tomorrow. For our talk.” Viktor moves to stand up, letting Yuuri readjust before he does so. Holding his hand out he smiles encouragingly. After a beat, Yuuri’s reaching out with his own, letting Viktor pull him easily into a standing position. Following Viktor, Yuuri shuffles into the bedroom, yawning several times. Viktor steers him towards the bathroom.

“Brush your teeth,” he says, holding out Yuuri’s toothbrush.

Yuuri blinks at him for a second, mouth agape, before reaching out and taking it with a frown. Viktor opens the toothpaste and holds it out. Yawning again, Yuuri takes it, puts a bit on the bristles, and starts brushing his teeth. When he’s done, he walks out to the bedroom, unzipping his jacket as he goes. Dropping it on the floor, he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Will you plug my phone in?” He asks. “It’s on the table.”

“I will, Lyubov,” Viktor says as he picks up the jacket, draping it over a chair in the corner. Yuuri has a second fireplace in his bedroom, he sees, and he looks around again. In the low light of the lamps on the nightstands and the light spilling in around the curtains, he can see the shine of the subtle gold touches on the patterned wallpaper, the shimmering details on the molding, the picture frames, the furniture. Yuuri has another, smaller sitting area here, a writing desk, and a set of doors that lead to a long balcony overlooking the grounds. The bed, though itself massive, manages somehow to look smaller than it is, almost dwarfed by the high ceiling and sheer size of the bedroom. Viktor walks back over to where Yuuri is. Pulling off his glasses and setting them on the table, Yuuri looks up at him, squinting.

“Vitya,” he says softly, “I love you so much.”

With a gentle smile, Viktor leans over, kissing Yuuri’s nose before pulling the covers back. “Into bed, Lyubov,” he says. “Time to go to sleep, I’ll come to bed in a bit.”

“You promise?” Yuuri asks, somehow sounding much younger than Viktor knows him to be.

“I promise, Yuuri,” Viktor kneels as Yuuri finally lays down, pressing another kiss first to his forehead, then his cheek, and finally on his lips.

“I like it when you say my name,” Yuuri mumbles, face half-buried in the soft pillow. After days of ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Sire,’ it must be comforting. Probably nice, as well, to have someone not  _ afraid _ to call Yuuri by name, outside of his family. It’s not something Yuuri will be hearing a lot of anymore, at least not paired with his title, and a stabbing pain shoots through Viktor. Every time he thinks he knows what Yuuri’s lost, something else makes itself known, and he’s beginning to wonder if he’ll ever understand.

“I like  _ saying _ your name,” Viktor responds, and that’s more true now than it’s ever been before. Yuuri has always been  _ Yuuri _ to him, first and foremost, and he hadn’t realized how much he he loves Yuuri’s name until he’d been unable to use it.

Yuuri looks up at him, blinking languidly. “Say it again?”

“I love you,  _ Yuuri,” _ Viktor says, kissing him on the forehead as he sighs contentedly. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yuuri nods, snuggling into the covers as Viktor pulls them up. He’s out before Viktor turns the light off, snoring softly into the pillow. Viktor turns the flashlight of his phone on, finding pajamas and slipping them on before grabbing his robe. Padding gently out of the room, Viktor closes the door behind him, and there’s a mere whisper as he eases the latch into place.

 

He’s just finished stacking the tea dishes on the tray and plugging Yuuri’s phone in when there’s a gentle knock at the door. Viktor opens it, nodding at Mari in greeting. Though still in a traditional kimono, she’s dressed more simply than she was at the coronation. She comes in when he steps back, waiting until he’s closed the door before she sighs heavily.

“How is he?” she asks, glancing at the closed bedroom door.

“Asleep,” Viktor responds.

“I’ve cancelled today’s shoot, they’ll do it early next week, when it was originally scheduled.”

“Probably for the best,” Viktor says as he glances back at the door.

“It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” She’s frowning, pursing her lips in a mix of concern and sadness and, somehow, regret. That she couldn’t help, maybe, or just because of the circumstances themselves. 

“It was,” Viktor says softly.

Mari mutters a curse under her breath, crossing her arms as she turns away. Frozen in place, Viktor debates whether he should question her or change the topic. She turns, slightly, looking back at him. “How do you know?” she asks as she faces him fully. “How  _ did _ you know, earlier?”

“I’m used to him,” Viktor replies. The look that crosses the princess’s face is like she’s been slapped, and he bites back a curse when he remembers how long it’s been since she’s seen Yuuri. How it wasn’t by choice on either of their parts. “I’m sorry, that… that came off badly. He has these… When he bites his lip, or fidgets, you can tell. His body says more than he does, he moves when he’s emotional and it’s the… the repetitive movements.”

Mari frowns, letting herself get briefly lost in thought before meeting Viktor’s eyes and nodding. “Will you… if you notice him panicking, let us know? Somehow? We’ll do what we can to get him out of the situation, to take care of him.”

“He’s generally pretty good at removing himself, if he has the option,” Viktor replies. “I would ask Yuuri about it. He knows how to manage his anxiety better than I do.”

“But what if he’s in front of people?”

“Believe in him. Believe he can get through it, and show him that.” Viktor rests his forehead on his fingertips for a moment, before combing his hair back. “Your Highness… Mari. I would talk to him ahead of time, when he’s not upset. See what he wants you to do, figure out how he  _ wants _ you to address it before he  _ needs _ you to.”

“You’re sure that’ll work? That he’s not going to get angry with us for asking?”

Viktor looks at her. “That’s what I did,” he says, matter-of-fact.

She opens her mouth, closing and opening it again before sighing. “I’ll be sure to do that, then. Thank you. Will you be joining my mother and I for dinner?”

It’s a chance to get to know Yuuri’s family, to find out more about him, it’s true, but… Viktor has time, and he made a promise.

“I told him I’d be here if he woke up,” he says in response, “my apologies. You and your mother could join me in here?”

Mari shakes her head. “I don’t want us to wake him up with our conversation,” she says, “and I suspect he’d find it less jarring if my mother and I  _ weren’t _ here, since he wouldn’t be expecting us. I’d be happy to have someone bring dinner for you, if you’d like.” There’s something she’s not quite saying, but Viktor’s not sure.

_ Please, Vityusha, I’m more comfortable with you than— _ Yuuri’d cut the sentence off there, asking— almost  _ begging _ Viktor not to leave him alone with his family. Mari must understand somehow, that Yuuri finds far more comfort in Viktor’s presence than hers, or her mother’s. It must hurt. He nods anyways. “Whatever is available is fine. Yuuri might appreciate sandwiches if he wakes up in the middle of the night.”

Mari nods. “Any particular favorites?” she asks softly.

Viktor thinks for a second, tapping his lower lip with his index finger. “Chicken salad? He eats a lot of deli meats, though, so that’d be fine as well.”

Nodding, she walks over to the door, before turning back. “Is there anything  _ you _ need, Viktor? Aside from the food.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be alright. I have stuff for tea here, and I was going to turn in after I called my family. I promised my moms I’d keep them posted.”

Mari nods. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor,” she says, just above a whisper, “and thank you. For being here. For supporting him through this.”

“Of course,” Viktor replies.

 

~*~

 

Once he’s eaten, and Yuuri’s sandwiches are put in the fridge, Viktor eyes his cell phone. He wraps his robe around his body, tying it tightly before grabbing the phone and opening the door to the balcony. Now’s as good a time as any to call them, it being early evening in Yekaterinburg, and he runs back in to grab his tea before taking a seat on the cushioned bench at the end of the balcony. Sighing, he sips the warm liquid as he looks over the grounds; the gardens, still covered in a layer of snow, stretching out before him. The cold bites at his cheeks, but for now the thick robe is doing its job, keeping him warm as he tucks his legs underneath it.

Opening the group chat with his moms, he sees messages from them. Love and reassurance, promises to be there for him and that he can call any time, day or night. He smiles. They’ve always done their best to remind him they love him, always met him with open arms and open hearts no matter how long it’s been since he’s last contacted them. They’ll likely have questions, some he can’t answer yet. Some he may never be  _ able _ to answer. Steeling himself, he presses the phone icon.

He’s just about to wonder if their voicemail is going to kick in when he hears the line click, a woman’s voice on the other end, out of breath. “Hello?”

“Mamulya,” Viktor says, “did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Vitka,” she says softly. “No, Vitka, we were just walking in the door as the phone rang. How are you? We’ve been worried.” Quiet, he swallows the lump in his throat, does his best to quiet that voice coming out of the darkness, chiding him for not bothering to call them sooner.

“I'm fine,” he says happily, the forced cheer grating even to his own ears. 

“Are you?” his mother asks in a way that says she knows full well he isn’t. 

He opens his mouth, trying to think of a way to convince her that nothing is wrong, but before he knows it, tears are collecting on his eyelids, threatening to run down his face. His throat catches on the beginnings of a sob and he hears a gentle sigh on the other end. 

“Viten’ka, my darling boy, I’m here,” her voice is soothing, her words filled with love and comfort as he cries into the handset, head buried in his arms.

“Mamulya, I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

“Is this about Yuuri?”

“He wants us to  _ talk _ tomorrow.”

“Given the circumstances, I should hope so.” Another sob, aching deep in his chest. His mother doesn’t mean to sound callous, but it comes off that way just the same and she’s soon apologizing, gentle words in his ear that make him miss her all the more.

“It’s not… I’m scared, Mamulya,” he says into the handset, and somehow saying it aloud makes it worse. He struggles to breathe, struggles to keep his mind on track when the only outcome he can imagine is one of insurmountable obstacles, “not of anything Yuuri’s doing, but… we don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll be able to.” Fighting tears, he stifles another sob, chokes down what he can. “I don’t know if  _ I’ll _ be able to.”

There’s shuffling in the background, hushed voices as his mother tries to comfort him. “It’s Vitka, about Yuuri,” he hears her say to someone else.

Alexei says something in the background, and he hears his maman agreeing before there’s more indistinguishable sound and his mother comes back on the line. “Vitya, tell us everything,” she says, her voice low and soothing. He’s put on speaker phone and he starts from the beginning, as best he can. It takes almost an hour to get through everything, from his figuring things out in the airport to explaining what happened the night Yuuri’s father died, to what he’s pieced together from the fragments of information he’s learned from conversations over the last few days. It’s been less than a week since he was in Detroit, but it feels like years. 

“I don’t know what to say, Viten’ka,” Maman says gently, when he’s finished. “We can’t tell you what to do one way or the other. Only you can figure out if it’s something you can handle.”

“We’ll support you though,” Mamulya adds. “No matter what choice you make, Vitka, regardless of what happens, we're here for you.”

Viktor feels the tears welling up again as he curls into himself. Not for the first time he wishes they were here with him. “But I don’t know what to  _ do,” _ he whispers hoarsely. 

“Vitya,” Alexei says softly. “No one here has any more idea what to do than you. Finding out your boyfriend is secretly royalty… It’s not really a common problem to have.”

“I know,” Viktor says around a wan smile. “I just…”

“Vitya, you do what feels right after you talk.”

“But what if — “

“Stop planning for things that haven’t happened,” Alexei says firmly. Their mothers whisper ferociously at him, but he continues. “You love him, yes?”

“I do,” Viktor replies. “I wanted to ask him to marry me, Lyosha. I- I still do.”

“Mazel tov,” he says. “My advice is this: hear him out, talk things through, ask your questions. If he says it’s impossible, that there’s no hope, come to Yekaterinburg, come see us. We’ll be here. I’ll even fly to the United States and get Makkachin for you. Otherwise, do what feels right. If staying with him is too daunting, say so. If you need time to think, tell him. He ought to respect that.” 

“And if I want to stay with him?”

“Then stay.” His brother’s voice is gentle. “You’ve spent too long trying to make other people happy, Viten’ka. Find your own happiness. You deserve it.”

“Vitka,” Maman says gently. “We want to see you happy. We want you to be living a life you love. That's what will make  _ us _ happy. You adore that boy, and he adores you. The way you two looked at each other is proof enough.”

“This does not mean we want you to rush into things, Viten’ka.” His mamulya’s voice is kind, but firm. “You need to take a good look at what this kind of relationship will mean for you. But, Vitya, if this is what you want, if you truly want to be with Yuuri,” she says, “then  _ do.” _

Reduced to tears, Viktor clutches his phone in his hands. Words of comfort, of reassurance, of support come through the tinny speaker and once he’s calmed down, he takes a few minutes to chat absently. They hang up with promises to talk again soon, and he pulls the phone to his chest. He’s never missed his family so much, never missed the reassuring weight of Makkachin against him as he does now, and the loneliness is just starting to feel overwhelming when there’s a soft click, further down the balcony. Yuuri’s face peeks out of the door to the bedroom, looking up and down the length of the balcony until he sees Viktor.

His slippers shuffle softly against the stone as he makes his way over. “I thought I heard voices,” he says, yawning as he sits next to Viktor. 

Putting his arm around Yuuri and pulling him close, Viktor kisses the top of his head. “I called my moms to let them know what was going on,” he says.

“I see.” Yuuri’s voice is strangely neutral.

Squeezing his shoulder, Viktor kisses him again. “They’re supportive,” he says, “and aren’t upset.”

“Even that I lied to you?”

“Yuuri, they understand that you couldn’t tell me. I explained, Lyubov.”

Snuggling closer, Yuuri yawns. “Are you coming to bed, soon? It was cold.”

Viktor chuckles. “I will, Lyubov. Are you hungry?”

Looking up at him, Yuuri shrugs. “Kind of, but it’s a bit late to be calling the staff when I don’t need to, and I don’t feel like making the walk to the kitchens.”

“I had sandwiches brought up. They’re in the fridge,” Viktor offers.

“You had someone bring sandwiches?”

“Well, I asked your sister to do it,” he replies. “She came by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “What kind?”

Viktor shrugs.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to head inside, the cold biting at them through their robes. Yuuri makes tea, something herbal and without caffeine to drink as he eats most of a turkey sandwich. “Was Mari upset?” he asks, looking into his mug.

“I didn’t get the impression she was. She said the shoot will be done when it was originally supposed to happen.”

“At least there’s that,” Yuuri mutters. “I checked my email, by the way. Nothing about the laws, yet.”

“Are you sure we’ll know tomorrow?”

“No,” Yuuri replies. “I’m not sure, but we should. They told me it would be today or tomorrow that they would have an answer.” His body shudders with a yawn, and he shakes himself again when he’s done. “Are you staying here?” he says, looking up at Viktor with shining eyes. “I mean, you don’t have to, you know I’m ok, I just…”

“Do you want me here, Lyubov?” Viktor asks.

After a pause, Yuuri nods. “I couldn’t sleep,” he whispers.

“I’ll stay, Yuuri,” he says as he pulls Yuuri into his arms. “I’ll stay.”

He hopes it’s for longer than just tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _When evening falls so hard  
>  I will comfort you  
> I’ll take your part, **when darkness comes**  
>  And pain is all around  
> Like a bridge over troubled water  
> I will lay me down_  
> \- Simon and Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water
> 
> My most sincere thank-yous to everyone who’s read so far!! It’s been a joy putting this fic out and I can’t wait to publish the next chapters!
> 
> Love and thank-yous to Isis and Riki for their support and input!!!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> (ваше) Величество (vashe Velichestvo) = “(Your) Majesty” in Russian
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](http://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**


	9. Take It Easy, Take It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-overdue talk, a dip into royal life, and Viktor's first competition since Yuuri's return to the public eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Don't Let Him Go by REO Speedwagon.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyiZBxUUELw)
> 
> **Warnings:** Mild discussion of childhood trauma and witnessing someone die, mild sexual harassment.

“Are you sure it's ok for you to be out like this?” Yuuri’s clothes are surprisingly casual, nice jeans and a peacoat over a sweater, and while his hair is mostly slicked back with a few errant tendrils making themselves known, there’s no crown on his head.

“I'm fine,” Yuuri says. “I’ve told people I’m keeping today casual, there aren’t any visitors on the grounds, and I have today and tomorrow off after… everything.”

“What about your staff, though?”

Chuckling, Yuuri glances back at the palace. “I, um… I told them I didn't want to be interrupted. There won’t be anyone out here until I tell them I'm done.”

“That’s effective.”

Yuuri’s fingers lace through his, their leather gloves squeaking in the cold. “Super effective,” he says with a laugh. “I wanted us to be able to speak freely. As Yuuri and Vitya. I don't want you to feel like you can’t speak your mind. As far as they’re concerned,” he gestures at the building behind them, “you have my permission to say what you want. _Anything_ you want. We won’t be overheard in the gardens.” As much as Viktor hates having to have permission just to talk, it looks like Yuuri hates having to give it just as much.

“Neutral ground?”

“As much as it can be, yes.” Yuuri says gently. “I'm aware that… I know it must feel like you have nothing here. No power, over anything, and I'm going to do my best to mitigate that.” Viktor nods. “There’s only so much I can do, though.”

“Red tape?”

Exasperated, Yuuri rolls his eyes. “So much red tape. I need to tread carefully, especially right now. There's only so far I can push things, after the stunt I tried to pull at the airport.”

Viktor frowns. Yuuri’s actions at the airport consisted solely of talking on the phone, grabbing luggage, and walking out to the limo.

“You didn’t _do_ anything at the airport.”

“I tried to, though, before you figured it out,” he says with a smile. “Vitya, I'd been trying to get the security team here to let me tell you who I was for months, but there kept being delays, even after the paperwork was submitted. I'd expected it to only take a few weeks.”

“Was there ever a research paper?” Viktor asks curiously.

“Yeah, yeah, there was. Is. I still need to turn it in if I want to get my degree.”

“Are you serious?”

Shrugging, Yuuri sighs. “I don’t know, my professor’s kind of…I could try emailing him. Explain what’s going on. He’s probably seen the news already.” Defeated, Yuuri's shoulder slump. His hand moves towards his face out of habit, stopping an inch from his nose when he remembers he’s not wearing his glasses. “Anyway. The research paper is actually real, but the paperwork was submitted by the university to Akitsushima’s government, who then passed it directly to my security team. They cleared all of the stuff for the university trip itself, like your visa and museum passes and stuff, but the paperwork was also submitted so that they could clear me to tell you who I was.”

“I take it they didn’t clear that bit.”

“No,” Yuuri says as he shakes his head. “I tried arguing, I tried yelling, I tried ordering them, I tried getting my _mom_ to work with them – this was after my dad wasn’t doing well – but they wouldn’t budge for some reason.”

“How long has Phichit known?”

Yuuri looks thoughtful for a second, before answering. “Going on four years now. I’d only lived with him for six months when he found out.”

“He said he found out by accident?”

Nodding, Yuuri bites his lip. “He did. He walked in on a conversation he wasn’t supposed to. My bodyguard kept an eye on him until the palace decided he wasn’t going to spill the beans. He signed an NDA, and they made sure he remembered that when I was trying to get clearance for you. Aside from him, the only other person who knew was Minako-sensei, and there was no way she’d tell you without permission. As a citizen of Akitsushima, she could be tried with high treason for telling anyone against the palace’s— and my father’s— orders. It would have been direct action against the Crown.”

“Wouldn’t you have been able to do something about it though? As crown prince, and especially when you were king – “

“No.” Yuuri's voice is firm. “They’d have said I was ‘emotionally compromised’ and couldn’t make an impartial decision. I couldn’t worm my way out of that, since it technically’d involve you, too.” Sighing, he looks at Viktor with a smile. “They’d have been right.”

“So what was it you tried to do at the airport?”

Threading his arm around Viktor’s waist, Yuuri chuckles softly. “I was going to make them bring you to the palace. I told them in no uncertain terms was I going to abandon you at the airport, and as my personal guest it was my responsibility, my _duty,”_ he emphasizes, “to make sure you were treated properly. Which, of course, meant bringing you with me. They wouldn’t let me _tell_ you. They didn’t say anything about _showing_ you”

“How big of a ‘fuck you’ would that have been?” Viktor asks curiously.

“A pretty big one,” Yuuri says, smiling. “But then you figured out I was the Crown Prince. At that point, there wasn't much they could do about you finding out anyway and they knew it.” He rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder briefly. “The call at the airport was when I knew for sure I’d be staying. Also, that I’d likely take the throne before the end of the night. Before that, we honestly thought we’d have time to break it to you gently. I'd planned to take you to lunch at the palace the next day to introduce you to my family. Your security clearance was in the final stages of being signed, as it was, it just ended up being… expedited.”

Viktor lets out a short laugh. “You looked so relieved when I figured it out.”

“Honestly, I was. I didn’t want to just… end up with you at the palace,” he says, “where the first thing you saw was me taking the throne. I’ve wanted you to know for months, Vitya. And if I couldn’t tell you, the next best thing would have been you finding out somehow, but with the guards I couldn’t make it look too overt. They were watching me as much as protecting me.” Looking up at Viktor, he brushes a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “How did you figure out who I was, anyway?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Viktor says, shrugging, “but I saw the guards staring at _you,_ specifically, and everything just clicked into place somehow.”

Yuuri snorts. “I _told_ Mari they drew attention. If they hadn’t sent them…”

“I probably wouldn’t have put it together,” Viktor says.

“But, Vitya… How did you know I existed? I didn't realize you were so familiar with Akitsushima’s… anything.”

“I did research before the trip,” Viktor responds. Clearly it's not enough of an explanation, because one of Yuuri’s eyebrows moves towards his hairline.

“When I did research for the trip, I found a restaurant famous for some pork dish they said was your favorite—”

“Katsudon?” Yuuri asks with a smirk.

Viktor blinks. “Now that you mention it, I think so!” he says, in mild disbelief. He’d had more pieces to the puzzle than even _he’d_ realized.

“My love of katsudon was… apparently, _is_ well-documented here,” Yuuri says, “so I'm not surprised you heard about it.”

“But the restaurant mentioned you, said something about a ‘Lost Prince.’ Then a while later there was mention of it on a brochure. It was really just a bunch of little glimpses here and there, nothing really noteworthy. The next time I remember hearing about you was a news report I read while you were in the bathroom at the airport in Detroit. Mentioned something about your dad being sick, and the Crown Prince rumored to be coming home to rule. I probably figured they were talking about from a trip or something like that. Nothing really came together until I saw the Guard.”

“So you pulled me into a bathroom and asked.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Yuuri smiles, shrugging in response. “I guess it did, yeah.”

“If we're being honest,” Viktor says, adjusting his scarf, “I thought you'd laugh at me for being ridiculous.”

Sighing, Yuuri looks into the distance. “Part of me wishes I could have,” he says. “I honestly don’t know why they wouldn’t have cleared you in the end. Especially once I got the call after we landed. I thought for sure, since we were headed to the palace, they’d have just… given up, at least. You finding out was inevitable.”

“They knew I was going to find out and they still forbade it?” Viktor can’t claim to know much about court politics, but that sounds suspicious.

He gets a nod. “Yeah. I know. It’s not sitting right with me, either. But as it was, the only way to keep us from being separated unnecessarily was to go along with it. To follow the rules. So, no telling you, and no trying to get Madame Lilia or Phichit or Minako-sensei to do it.”

“Can I ask you something, Yuuri?”

“Anything, Vityusha.”

“When Lilia found out, in Russia, did she say anything to you?” _Was she ok with the lies?_

“Not much. The first thing she did was make sure I wasn’t with you for the wrong reasons. That was before she figured it out.”

“And after?”

“After, it came with a side of ‘you’d better tell Vitya soon.’ She wasn’t thrilled with me keeping it from you, but with the entire palace security team insisting you not find out, there wasn’t much she could do,” Yuuri sighs, “not and stay in the palace’s good graces.” Viktor feels relief.

There are light tugs on his lapels as Yuuri faces him, leaning close. “Vitya, my Vityusha, I _know_ I hurt you. And I'm so incredibly sorry, and I should have figured… _something_ out so I could have told you.” His face is sad, guilty when he looks up, and it breaks Viktor’s heart all over again.

“Yuuri, Lyubov moya, can you honestly tell me that you made every effort? Did everything in your power to get them to let you tell me?”

Yuuri nods, looking up at him. “I- yes. I can. Vitya, I hated lying to you. Hated every second of it.” He sounds disgusted with himself, angry at the fact it was necessary in the first place and suddenly, Viktor feels calm.

It’s strange, he thinks, that it should come over him so quickly, but here he is, standing in front of the love of his life with a silly grin on his face and stars in his eyes. Yuuri's face scrunches in confusion, and Viktor kisses his nose.

“You truly never meant to hurt me.”

“No, Vityusha, never.”

“This is real,” he says breathlessly, pulling Yuuri's hands to his chest. “What we have is real.”

“It is,” Yuuri replies earnestly. “Vitya, my Vityusha, I love you so much.” Tears collect in the corners of his eyes, bright in the cold winter sun.

“Oh, Yuuri. Lyubov moya, I love you too.”

 

~*~

 

“It’s funny,” Yuuri says as he stands on the stone ledge of the fountain, “my mother never let me do this.” He walks slowly around the circumference, holding Viktor’s hand. “She was sure that – “ There’s a high-pitched yelp before a splash, Yuuri landing face-up in the icy water.

He sits for a second, gasping for air, and Viktor holds his hand out. Yuuri takes it gratefully, using the leverage to get to his feet. He steps out, shoes squelching, and it’s only a second before Viktor’s stripping the damp peacoat off his shoulders. Setting it to the side, he takes off his own.

“Let’s get you back inside before you freeze,” he says with a smile as he wraps his coat around Yuuri, depositing his scarf on his head.

“V-Vitya, aren’t you cold?” Yuuri's teeth chatter as Viktor pulls the jacket closed in front.

“You’re soaking wet, Yuuri. You’ll lose body heat faster than I will.”

“But it’s f-freezing, Vitya!”

“I’m Russian, I’ll be fine.”

“You know saying ‘I’m R-Russian’ doesn’t change h-human physiology, right?”

“I spend most of my time in an ice rink, too.”

“That doesn’t change it either!” Yuuri shouts indignantly.

Viktor just pushes him towards the palace. “It doesn’t, but it makes me feel better. Hurry up, or you’ll catch your death of cold!”

Yuuri stops, then, turning around to face Viktor with a smile. He glances quickly around, before going on his tiptoes and whispering in Viktor’s ear.

“Yes, M-my Liege.”

Viktor blushes, and then he realizes.

“Y-You’ve been calling me that, this _entire time,_ knowing that…”

Giggling, Yuuri's eyes sparkle. “It m-may have been a double inside j-joke on my end,” he stammers with a blue-lipped smile. Viktor resumes pushing him towards the palace.

“You’re impossible, Yuuri.”

 

“So what was it your mother was so sure of?” Viktor asks as they climb the back stairs.

Blushing, Yuuri pulls the coat tighter around himself. “One day I'd end up falling in,” he mumbles into the collar.

Viktor laughs softly before kissing Yuuri's forehead. “Well, then.”

Yuuri takes off his shoes and socks just inside the door, handing them to a nearby attendant. Another rushes forward with a robe and slippers, and Yuuri puts the slippers on before taking his wet coat from Viktor and handing both jackets and the scarf over to be laundered. Someone comes up behind him with the robe, holding it up for him as he slips his arms into the sleeves. He pulls it closed, tying it securely, and smiles at Viktor.

“T-tea, please, to my rooms,” he says, and a young man rushes off. The staff gives them looks as they walk through the halls, eyes glancing repeatedly over both of them. Yuuri walks with his head held high, wet hair dripping down the back of his neck. His eyes shine as the sides of his mouth curl upward. It’s not far to the residential area, and they make it to Yuuri’s rooms in short order. Tea is delivered just as Yuuri’s getting out of the shower, and he smiles when he sees it. Clad in loose sweats and a thermal under a lined silk robe, he puts sugar in his cup before joining Viktor on the couch.

“Do you want to try mine?” Viktor asks, holding his out.

“Does it have jam in it?” Yuuri looks at him skeptically.

“Yes. Can you really have an opinion on jam in tea if you haven’t tried it?”

Yuuri scowls adorably, before taking the cup from Viktor’s hand. He takes a tentative sip, and then another, but his face is unreadable. There’s a long pause in which he sits almost perfectly still, before taking yet another sip, then frowns. He looks at Viktor, and a sheepish smile spreads across his face.

“It’s actually… good,” he says in disbelief. He takes another sip, and he’s just lifting the cup to his lips again when Viktor plucks it out of his hand.

“You have your own tea,” he points out.

Yuuri scrunches his face at Viktor and sips his own with a small smile. Pulling out his phone, Viktor leans over. “Selfie, Lyubov?” he asks, holding it up.

“You can’t post it, Vitya, not until we figure out what PR wants us to do about social media. Can we send it to Phichit, though?”

“That's what I’d been thinking!”

Yuuri smiles gratefully, leaning into the frame with a smile. Viktor takes the photo, pulling it up right away.

“Wow,” Yuuri whispers beside him. “We look so happy.”

It's true. If not for the background and the dark circles they share, this photo is nearly indistinguishable from the ones they'd taken in Detroit. Yuuri settles against him, soft, warm, and comfortable. Viktor sends the photo along. Honestly, there’s a lot to think about. There are a lot of questions he still has, but if there’s anything Viktor knows in this moment, it’s that he doesn't want to lose Yuuri if he can help it.

“Any word on the law?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen before he sets his teacup down, does a half-jog into the bedroom. He comes out with his computer perched on his arm, fingers working the trackpad and keyboard as he furrows his eyebrows. Taking his seat again, he gives a tentative smile as he finds what he’s looking for.

“I got the email this morning, apparently, just after we went out.” His eyes move back and forth, skimming the lines of text. His breath catches in his throat, eyes widening, and Viktor’s heart plummets.

“Lyubov, don’t tell me—”

“It’s legal,” Yuuri says, barely above a whisper. “There aren’t any laws against it, Vitya, it’s- it’s definitely highly frowned upon, but I don’t have… I don’t have to get any laws changed.” He looks up then, tears in his eyes as his face splits into a wide grin. “We— it’s possible, if that’s the course you want to take. If…” he trails off, taking a moment. “Being with me… it’s a _lot._ I… I will absolutely understand if you can’t handle it, and I won’t… I won’t hold any hard feelings if you decide it’s too much.”

“If we’re being honest, Lyubov, I was feeling the same way for a while. Worrying how you’d feel about being with me. The media exposure, the travel. I know you hate both of them and I was worried if you’d just… Figure I wasn’t worth it one day. That losing me to my career for huge blocks of time would be more than you wanted to deal with.” He smiles, kissing Yuuri’s nose. “It also allows me a unique understanding of the position you’re in.” The love that fills his heart takes his breath away. He wants to stay with Yuuri. He wants to spend the rest of his life at Yuuri's side, in whatever capacity he’ll have him.

Laughing softly, Yuuri kisses his cheek. “I don’t actually dislike either, you know. I mean, I guess I could always do without the media, but my main concern was them figuring out who I was. There was no way we could gag them in time if they’d figured it out, especially not without Minako-sensei around.”

“Your bodyguard couldn’t have helped from Detroit either, huh?”

“There’s no way the palace let me go to Russia alone,” Yuuri gives a nervous laugh. “She was there, but it was supposed to be incognito, so we didn’t talk until we left. She’s only one person, though, and she likely couldn’t have done it alone.”

“Wow,” Viktor responds. “You really don’t mind the media?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I mean, we have laws similar to Japan’s about paparazzi, so it’s not as bad here. I _expect_  the media in certain circumstances. Outside of those, I don’t like it. I'm not as used to it anymore, but I’ve been on camera in public since I was like three hours old. I was well accustomed to it by the time I left home, I’d stopped minding at all by then.”

“Seriously? Three hours old?” Viktor’s been feeling the burden of having cameras on him since he was twelve. He can’t imagine how Yuuri must have felt as a child.

“It was the birth of the heir to the throne. Kind of a big deal, you know?” He’s scratching his head again, the way he does when he’s uncomfortable but still trying to stay upbeat. “They tried to film _everything,_ but my mom wouldn’t hear of it.”

“What about travel?”

“The more scrutiny my paperwork went through, and the more it showed up in the system, the higher the chance someone would notice something. I knew it wasn’t likely, but I couldn’t risk it. I hated it more when I was younger and had to get used to being on a plane with people other than my family and staff.”

“You still came to Russia, though.”

“At that point, Vitya, people wouldn’t have been able to figure it out before I was back here. I’ve only ever traveled outside the US a few times when I was in hiding. A couple of those times were just up to Canada,” he says. “Phichit and I really wanted to try Tim Horton’s.”

“Twice?”

“Well, I mean, we, of course, were very forgetful and completely forgot how we felt about it,” he says, grinning, “so we had to go get more for research.”

“Of course,” Viktor laughs.

Yuuri sighs, leaning against the back of the couch. “Before…before you make your final decision about giving this a go, we still need to talk about what it’ll mean for you.”

“What do you mean?” Viktor asks.

“I know you’re used to fame,” Yuuri says, “but this is a different kind of famous than what you’ve experienced, with different responsibilities and rules and problems. Dating me comes with a high amount of scrutiny – more than what you’ve come to expect – and, also, a higher level of risk.”

Viktor’s head snaps up at that, because risk isn’t something Yuuri's mentioned so far. It’s not an unexpected turn to the conversation, Yuuri's talked before about assassination attempts and security breaches, but it’s the first he’s said anything directly concerning Viktor.

“Growing up royal, I’ve had people after me in some capacity for most of my life,” Yuuri says, staring at his restless hands. “Akitsushima is very traditional. As far as the nobility is concerned, I’m expected to marry either a noble from Akitsushima, or, if I _must_ marry someone foreign, another royal. If you were the Prince of Denmark or someone, there wouldn’t be nearly as much pushback as I’ve gotten and am expecting to get in the future.”

“So what, I’m bringing down the monarchy or something?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No. I am. By being with you. The people of this country…they’re ready for this. They’re ready for the Royal Family to stop being so bound by tradition and propriety, and start coming into the new age. There’ve been movements for years about succession, arguments that the throne is rightfully my sister’s. I agree with them,” he says earnestly, “she’s far more suited for this position than I am what with having lived here her whole life, but laws are laws, and the crown went to me. It’s the nobility that are holding us back. Not all of them, but a small, powerful, and vocal minority is causing enough pushback that it’s hard to move things forward.”

“Are you expecting more problems?”

Yuuri nods. “I am. We’re prepared for arguments, threats, actual attacks…security is unusually high at the moment, even for a new monarch.” His breath catches in his throat, briefly, before he swallows sadness and continues, “Vitya. Vityusha. I love you. More than anything. I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, but I want you to know what you’re getting into if you decide to stay with me.”

“That almost sounds like a marriage proposal,” Viktor says as he kisses Yuuri's hand.

Blushing a furious scarlet, Yuuri clears his throat, opening his mouth before Viktor interrupts.

“I would accept, you know, if it was.” At that, Yuuri squeaks and hides his face in the couch cushion. Viktor laughs, wrapping his arms around him, and kisses the tops of his shoulders and his upper back until he sits back up.

“Lemme finish first,” he says with a light pout and a sparkle in his eye.

“Give me the basics. Just enough to know what to expect, Lyubov. I’ll learn the details with time.”

“If we were to go public, if you officially become Suitor to the King, y—” Yuuri stops when he notices Viktor looking at him in disbelief. “Vitya… what is it?”

“Is that an actual… is that a title?” Viktor asks as the world goes quiet around him. The idea of being called by a title is strange, not something he’s given thought to before now.

“It’s not,” Yuuri says, “not in the same way I have one. It’d just be… so if we go to events, which we’ll have to do together sometimes, you’d be announced as Viktor Nikiforov, Suitor to the King or something similar, basically telling everyone you’re my romantic partner? You’d still be called ‘Mr. Nikiforov’ though.”

Viktor nods.

“You wouldn’t get an actual title until we were married.”

“What would that be, Lyubov?”

“If we get married you’ll be King-Consort. People… people would be addressing you as ‘Your Majesty,’ same as me.” Yuuri says this cautiously, hesitantly, seemingly sure that this will be the final straw. Somehow, Viktor’s surprised. He shouldn’t be, people who marry monarchs always end up with some sort of title, but in the last two days he’s been unable to think things through that far, as focused as he was on the events at hand. Taking a deep breath, he looks at Yuuri. ‘Living Legend’ and ‘National Hero’ have been his monikers, his _titles_ for years now. What’s one more?

“I see,” he says, kissing Yuuri on the nose.

“Vitya, if it’s too much…” There’s a pained look on Yuuri’s face when he meets Viktor’s eyes.

“Yuuri,” he says, “just because I need time to get used to things doesn’t make it too much. It’s a lot to take in is all. Go on?”

Nodding, Yuuri lets out a sigh. “You’ll… you’ll need to be educated. Propriety. Rules, and stuff. Like how to carry yourself,” Yuuri says. “I love you, and you carry yourself with confidence, but… not quite… royal. You’ll need to know what to do when, what you can and can’t do when certain people are around.”

“Such as?”

“For instance, if I walk into a room, everyone’s supposed to stand.”

“Like Mari at dinner,” Viktor says as things start to make more sense. Yuuri nods.

“Exactly. No one’s supposed to be seated if I’m not. Which is… well, it is what it is.” Shoulders slumping, he rubs the back of his head. “Stuff like that, though. How and when to bow, how to greet people. Ballroom dancing, if you don’t know any. Even if you do, Minako will want to keep your skills sharp.”

“She’ll be working with me?”

“Both of us,” Yuuri says. “She’s been working with me for years, now. She moved out to Michigan when I was sixteen, taught me ballet and ballroom and etiquette and everything else I needed to know. And the stuff I had forgotten. I’m sure she’d drill you on ballet as well. Keep Madame Lilia off your back.”

“Why do you call her that?” Viktor asks. “Why ‘Madame Lilia?’” In his years of experience, he’d only ever heard ‘Madame Baranovskaya’ or just ‘Lilia.’

“Ahh, well,” Yuuri says sheepishly, “when I was a kid… Baranovskaya was almost impossible for me to say. She suggested ‘Madame Lilia’ after I started crying out of frustration, and it kind of stuck.” Viktor nods. It makes sense, and in Russia Lilia wouldn’t have made him work any harder to keep his cover than she had to. “I’m sure,” Yuuri continues, “that if you asked Minako she’d be willing to take you on for ballet, around her lessons with me.”

“She’s still giving you actual lessons?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuri says. “She wants to keep my social skills sharp. Work on my public speaking.”

“You sounded fine to me,” Viktor says.

“I sound too American, according to the palace,” Yuuri responds, “though I don’t know what anyone expected. Still, I have stuff I need to make sure I keep on top of, and she’ll be working with me on ballroom at the very least. Ballet is more stress relief than anything else, but… she _was_ a ballerina, she doesn’t mind. She’ll likely be more than willing to work with you, too.”

“I’ll ask,” Viktor agrees. “When will I be able to talk to her?”

“She’ll likely be out within a few days. Maybe a week. We have a studio here, in the palace. My grandfather had it built after I took up ballet as a young child. It was still being built when he died, but my parents made sure I knew he’d put it in for me. I used to go there all the time. I can show you sometime?”

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “I’d love to! We can dance together!”

A blush spreads across Yuuri’s face, and he smiles in return. “We can, Vityusha. But she’ll need to give you lessons, and I’ll likely be unable to be there during them. She should be able to work around your training schedule just fine. Speaking of which, I need to show you where the private gym is.”

“You have a gym?”

“Well, it’s… there is a group of guards stationed here 24/7, so there are barracks and they have a cafeteria and training facilities. Including a gym. You’ll have clearance once we get the paperwork approved.”

“How long should that take?”

Yuuri flashes him a look. “Not very, if I have anything to say about it. Worse come to worst, I’ll order the clearance signed.” Viktor gulps. Yuuri’s talking about an upper-level sort of security clearance as far as access to the palace goes, almost unrestricted, and he can just order it given to Viktor at any time. It’s almost unnerving, certainly somewhat disorienting, and Viktor’s head swims briefly as he tries to find his breath. He feels hands on his.

“Vityusha?” Yuuri asks softly. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Viktor says, “you didn’t.”

It’s not enough to ease Yuuri’s concern, though, and he leans forward. “Vitya, you look…” Pursing his lips, his eyes scan over Viktor’s face. “You look nervous,” he says.

“Yuuri, this isn’t easy,” Viktor says before he can stop himself. “I want this. I want _you._ I want to make a future for us, but there’s a lot I need to get used to.” He bites back anything else that might have come out before he says something out of anger. Fear? Either way, it wouldn’t be good.

Yuuri seems to think better of something before it leaves his mouth, shoulders drooping as he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Lyubov—”

“I was prying,” Yuuri interrupts. “You’re right. This _is_ a lot to get used to. Moreso for you.”

Viktor wants to lie. He wants to just tell Yuuri it’s fine, to cover things up in an attempt to make himself more palatable, but he doubts it’ll be convincing enough to be worth the effort. Sighing, he nods. “Keep going, Lyubov. Aside from the lessons with Minako?”

“You’ll need to get ready for press. A _lot_ of press.”

“I’ve been dealing with the press for years, Yuuri.”

“All I know, Vitya, is that Minako-sensei warned me that it’s different from being a celebrity.”

“I’ll be ok, Yuuri.”

“I was shielded from a lot of the press when I was a kid. I’ve been taught what to expect, and practicing for it, and yeah, I was used to it, because whenever I’m off the grounds I can almost guarantee I’m being filmed. I just want you to know what she’s told me. It's no longer about what you do. It's about who you are.”

Viktor nods. “I'll manage."

“You’ll also be expected to show up at… _functions,”_ Yuuri says. “Parties, dinners, some stuff when I visit places.”

“Places?”

“Schools and hospitals and stuff. All that… kiss-the-baby, smile-for-the-camera stuff. Appearances.”

“What will I need to do?”

“Look pretty, mostly,” Yuuri mumbles. “Greet people, say a few nice things. Smile. Shake hands. Look interested the fifth time someone repeats the same information.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Yuuri sighs. “If we get married, you’ll be expected to do them alone, among other things. You’d be seen as an extension of the crown, kind of a stand-in for me when I can’t make it. In addition, if… if we get married, I’m not sure what all will go with that. There’re possible questions about citizenship, and then if we end up wanting children, and—”

“Yuuri, we can jump through those hoops when we know what they are.”

“You sound so sure of your decision, Vitya.” Yuuri's eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Yuuri, I… I want to make this work. I want to stay with you, and I know that’s not going to be easy but it’s worth it, to me.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“This life won’t be like anything you’re used to.”

“The life I was used to before I met you, Yuuri, is a life I honestly don’t care to return to.” Yuuri's eyes widen, mouth opening slightly.

“Yuuri, I… I was so dissatisfied with everything. Nothing made me feel _good_ anymore. I’d been _used_ for my fame, my skills… Like I said before, it’s been very impersonal. I stayed in Detroit because even a strange city in a foreign country I’d never stayed in long felt less uncomfortable than home. And then…I met you, and Yuuri, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I had something to look forward to. Someone to talk to who wasn’t just picturing gold in their heads. Even _after_ I found out you knew…” Yuuri looks at him guiltily.

“I’m sorry, Vitya, I didn’t – “ He stops when Viktor touches his hand.

“Let me finish, Yuuri. My turn.” Yuuri nods, swallowing. Sighing softly, Viktor continues. “Honestly, the fact that you lied out of consideration for _my_ feelings was… I’ve never had someone do that. Put my feelings before their fascination, but you did it for _months._ And when I look back on things, I don’t know if we could have grown close like this if I’d known at the start.” He smiles, “honestly, I can see why you got it, now. I even compared myself to royalty.” Yuuri snorts, and Viktor feels his own grin widen.

“Yeah, that was…an interesting comparison. And the inspiration for your nickname, if we’re being completely honest.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

Hurt flashes through Yuuri's eyes. “Does it upset you?”

“No, it’s…it’s just that you – you’re, well, _you.”_

“Vitya, please just…let me have my fun. Let me pretend to defer to one person in my life.” His eyes are filled with a sadness Viktor is more than familiar with.

Viktor nods. “It’s lonely at the top. I understand,” he says before he kisses Yuuri gently.

“I know you do,” Yuuri says, barely above a whisper.

“Yuuri, Lyubov, for the longest time I was scared that you’d find me overwhelming. That you’d find being with me more trouble than it’s worth. I should have discussed things with you back then,” he says. His eyes burn again. His chest feels tight. Yuuri takes his hands, massaging them reassuringly with his thumbs. Letting out a breath, Viktor continues. “I should have. Chris was telling me I should… I knew that I needed to, and… I didn’t. Because I was scared of losing you.” He feels a tear rolling down his face. “I know I didn’t really understand the entirety of the situation, but that doesn’t matter. I was doing a disservice to you. Regardless of who you were,” he says when Yuuri opens his mouth, “or who I thought you were. I had concerns, relatively _huge_ concerns, and I didn’t say anything for months. There was no security team stopping me, Yuuri.”

“Oh, Vityusha,” Yuuri says softly.

“It was unfair to you. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri leans forward, kissing Viktor gently on the lips. “All is forgiven.”

“But Yuuri, I – “

“All is forgiven, Vitya,” he says gently. “I knew who you were. I knew you’d be in the public eye, and I know what a figure skater’s competition schedule is like. I lived with Phichit for almost three years, remember? It would have made sense for you to think I already understood.”

“Still, I should have said something.”

“Vityusha,” Yuuri says, with gentle admonishment. Viktor nods, resting his forehead on Yuuri's.

“I was serious about marrying you, if you’ll have me.”

There’s a short intake of air. “Vitya, it’s… it’s far too soon to get engaged, we can’t. You don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know what it’s _going_ to be like, and there’s no guarantee that you’re even going to _want_ this.”

“You’re still operating under the assumption I’ll leave?”

“It’s safer than operating under the assumption you’ll stay.”

Kissing his cheek, Viktor pulls Yuuri into his arms. “Yuuri, Lyubov moya, solnyshko moyo, there is nowhere I’d rather be than by your side.”

“Vitya, you can’t just say things like that,” his voice hitches in his throat, his hands clinging to the hem of Viktor’s shirt.

“After all this, you think I’m just saying that? Yuuri, I know this comes with risk. I _know._ You made sure of that. Yet all of this,” he says, gesturing at their surroundings, “isn’t a dealbreaker. Yuuri, you’re my beloved, my sunshine, you’ve brought love back into my life. You’ve helped me find my passion for _skating again,_ Yuuri. I wanted to retire before I met you.” Yuuri gasps softly. “I was lost, I was lonely, and I…I didn’t care. About anything, Yuuri, outside of my dog, and my family but…we were distant. But now I feel like I’ve gotten my life back, and you with it, and I couldn’t be happier than when I’m with you. Please tell me we can do this, Yuuri.”

“I want to try, Vitya. There’s nothing I want more. For now,” he says, “I think… If you’re comfortable with it, we can announce our relationship. It would be the first step establishing us as a pair in the public eye, and you would start living…”

“Like a royal, Lyubov?”

Yuuri nods. “Yes. You would be expected to take on a sort of… like Consort, but more… Consort-Lite,” he says. “You would be going to appearances and everything, like I talked about, and it would be similar to a trial run. So you can get an idea of what this would entail and whether or not you feel like it’s what you want.”

“Would I have to live here?”

“Not if you didn’t want to, I imagine,” Yuuri says, “though as far as performing functions it may be easier. You wouldn’t be required to go to everything, but the more people see us together, the more opportunities we have to sway public opinion. The more functions you go to, the more it shows that you’re not just doing this for fun or for the title. That you’re actually willing to play the part of Consort. _That_ is what’s going to prove to the people of Akitsushima, and the nobility, that you’re worthy of the this.”

“I understand, Lyubov,” Viktor replies.

“Do you?” Yuuri asks.

“As well as I’m going to until we actually give this a try.”

Nodding, Yuuri presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re sure, Vitya? You’re sure you want me to announce us?”

“I’m sure, Yuuri,” Viktor says, and he is. He’s sure he wants Yuuri, he’s sure he wants to stay with Yuuri, and he’s sure he would move mountains to make sure this works. He knows, staring into Yuuri’s eyes, that Yuuri would do the same.

“You know,” Yuuri says after a long moment. “I have the rest of today and tomorrow free. I was thinking today would be a good day to show you the rink.”

Viktor nods in agreement. “I need to get back to training soon, if I’m going to stay in shape for Europeans,” he says.

“We can take our skates, if you like.”

“I would love that.” Kissing Yuuri’s nose, Viktor pulls him close and holds him tight.

“And since we’ll have all day, tomorrow I could take you on a tour, if you want. Kaa-san and Mari could join us for breakfast, and likely the tour itself if you're ok with that.”

“A tour sounds nice. You can tell me all about what you used to get up to when you were small and adorable.”

“Show you that chip in the baseboards, too,” he says, smiling. “As well as the borrowing system for the library. We can figure it out.”

“We'll figure it out,” Viktor says.

 

~*~

 

When they get out of the car, Viktor gets his first good look at the rink. It’s not as big as the one in St. Petersburg, barely large enough for a small ice show, but the facade is welcoming nonetheless.  Yuuri, now wearing a dark blue three-piece suit, smiles as they head up the front to the glass doors. They walk in to see a man and a woman, both dressed nicely, as well as three young girls in matching pink, purple, and blue outfits. Yuuri comes to a stop in front of them and they bow as a unit.

“Your Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov,” the woman says, “welcome to Ice Castle Hasetsu. My name is Nishigori Yuuko.” She smiles and gestures at the man. “This is my husband, Takeshi, and our three girls, Axel, Lutz, and Loop. It’s our distinct honor to have you here.”

Instead of the smile and nod Viktor expected, Yuuri just stands there with his mouth slightly agape. “Yuu-chan?” he asks, voice soft. “Takeshi-kun? You guys got married? You work at the rink now?”

“Y-Your Majesty, you remember us?” the woman, Yuuko, looks at her husband in disbelief.

“Of course I remember you,” Yuuri says, “you guys were my best friends before I left!”

“She means no offense, Sire,” Takeshi says.

Yuuri frowns. “I know,” he replies. “Everyone can be a bit less formal. I feel like that would make everything go more smoothly.”

Takeshi and Yuuko share a long glance, before Yuuko speaks, again with a shallow bow. “Of course, Your Majesty.” Yuuri’s shoulders sink, just barely enough to be perceptible.

When Viktor steps forward, Yuuri takes his hand. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

“Viktor Nikiforov!” One of the girls shouts.

“Can we get your autograph?” The girl in pink chimes in excitedly.

“Can we watch you skate?!” the last one asks, eyes wide and a phone in hand.

“Girls! You’re in the presence of your King!” Yuuko shouts. She looks back up at Yuuri, eyes wide. “I am so incredibly sorry for the interruption, Your Majesty, it won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright,” Yuuri says, laughing. “Figure skating fans?”

Takeshi nods. “Huge ones. They’ve been on the ice and following figure skating for almost as long as they’ve been alive.”

“I don’t mind signing a few autographs,” Viktor says cheerfully. “It’s great to meet fans, and such young ones, too! Do you girls skate?” He goes down on one knee, and the girls surround him.

“I’ve been skating my whole _life,”_ one of them says firmly.

“That’s impressive!” Viktor responds. “I started skating when I was very young, just like you!”

“I can do a toe loop!” another chimes in.

“That was my first jump, too!” Viktor replies.

“I wanna do a quad!” the last one exclaims.

“Keep practicing, you’ll get there!” Viktor says. “That’s what _I_ did!”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, “did you want to see the facilities?”

“Of course.” Standing, he smiles at the girls. “We can trade stories later, okay?”

All three nod happily, though they don’t stop crowding him. It’s pleasant to see their enthusiasm, reminding Viktor of his early days and putting a smile firmly on his face.

 

The Nishigoris show them through the building, from the skate rental area into the rink itself, windows set high in the concrete walls. After this, they move again through the halls until they reach the locker rooms. The facilities are modest but functional which, at the end of the day, is all Viktor really needs.

“Are we able to skate today?” Yuuri asks after they’ve seen the showers. “I know you guys were told Viktor would be training here in the future, but…”

“Absolutely,” Yuuko says. “Of course! The Palace requested a few hours blocked off for your use, Your Majesty. Do you need a pair of skates? We have a new pair we can sharpen right up for you if you need.”

“I have my own, thanks,” Yuuri says, smiling as he gestures at the gear bag one of his bodyguards is holding. “I still skate.”

“Do you? You kept it up after you left?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, I did. Somehow, the ice always felt like home, even when nothing else did.”

Viktor sees shock cross the Nishigoris’ faces before they smile, more warmly than before.

“Would you like to skate now, Your Majesty?” Yuuko asks. “The ice was zamboni’d just an hour or so ago. If you need music, we’d be happy to bring out the speakers.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Yuuri says. “Viktor and I will be right out when we’re done changing. Please have the speakers ready.”

“Absolutely,” Takeshi says, bowing. “Come along girls, why don’t we let King Yuuri and Mr. Nikiforov change in peace.”

They’re soon left alone in the locker room. Yuuri takes his suit off carefully, hanging it in the garment bag brought for this very purpose. He pulls on his track pants, a nice black pair Viktor hasn’t seen before, and has just slipped on a grey t-shirt when Viktor moves towards him, kissing the back of his shoulder.

“Everything alright, Velichestvo?”

There’s a sigh, and Yuuri turns around, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist. “It’s weird,” he says. “I thought when I met them again we’d be more… familiar.”

“You could _tell_ them you want them to be more familiar again.”

“That’d just make things more awkward, and there’s only so familiar I can let them be without problems.” He rests his forehead on Viktor’s shoulder. “It’s hard enough getting the palace to not get upset about _you_ being familiar with me. You’re my _boyfriend.”_

“I see,” Viktor replies.

Yuuri takes another moment, before pulling away and grabbing his bag. He changes his socks before pulling his skates on, tying them quickly. Viktor’s just zipping up his jacket and taking his skates out of his bag when Yuuri stands up and walks back and forth, getting used to the feel of them again. Viktor puts his boots on and does up his laces, tying them securely before grabbing his phone.

When they walk out to the rink, the girls are already watching from the boards. Viktor doesn’t miss the bodyguards, posted around the rink at each entrance and along the walls, eyes constantly moving between Yuuri and any potential threats. Taking his hand, Yuuri smiles. “Skate with me?”

“How close to saying ‘shall we skate’ were you, Velichestvo?”

“Very, actually,” Yuuri says with a laugh as he steps onto the ice.

They’re skating laps in tandem the next time Yuuri speaks. Shifting so he’s skating backwards, just ahead of Viktor, he smiles. “You’re good with kids,” he says, nodding in the vague direction of the triplets.

“My little sister was born when I was thirteen,” he says. “I used to visit home a lot more when I was younger, so I saw her a lot when she was about that age.” Yuuri nods. “Do you like kids, Velichestvo?”

Snorting, Yuuri narrowly avoids hitting the boards before straightening out properly. “I have next to zero experience with children,” he says. “One of my classmates in college had a baby and every time I held them they started crying. I don’t know how to handle kids, they’re the world’s biggest mystery at this point.”

“So you were never around them.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Not enough for me to get an idea of what to _do_ with them.” Viktor pulls the remote for the speakers out of his pocket, turning on the music as they skate close enough to the speaker unit for the signal to reach. Yuuri occupies himself with figures while Viktor skates bits of his routines, but it’s not long before they’re skating with each other once more. They move across the ice, in an improvised ice dance that more often than not leaves them laughing after a near-collision. When Stammi Vicino comes on, however, Yuuri smiles. They move to the center of the rink before Viktor starts the music over.

Together, they move through the motions of the program, Yuuri trailing just a bit behind. His jumps are shaky, a clear indication that he hasn’t been practicing, and he scales most down to doubles, save the toe loop and flip. Still, he moves like a dream, his spins nearly perfect aside from some travelling. As they move into the ending, Viktor’s tempted to ask for a performance. To ask Yuuri to show him the routine as _he_ sees it again, now that their relationship has moved into the romantic.

A silence descends over the rink as they hold the final pose, the playlist ending with the final song, and Yuuri smiles at Viktor. He’s breathing hard, sweating, and bits of hair have come loose, but he looks so _alive._ Viktor skates towards him, stopping inches away. “May I kiss you?” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” is Yuuri’s response, and they press their lips together. The lack of traction on the ice combined with the exertion of skating that has left them breathless means that they shortly break apart with breathy giggles. Viktor rests his forehead on Yuuri’s.

Cooling down doesn’t take long, and one of the bodyguards holds out their skate guards once they come off the ice. Yuuri takes his, easily slipping them on, Viktor following suit a moment later.

Yuuko and the girls, all nearly vibrating with excitement, approach slowly. Bowing at the neck, Yuuko smiles at Yuuri. “Your Majesty, you’re… that was so cool!” she exclaims, blushing heavily.

As the tips of his ears turn red, Yuuri coughs. “Th-thanks, Yuu-chan.”

The girls have all come forward with posters they’ve fetched from somewhere in the rink, and a small bag of sharpies.

“Will you sign these?!” They’re crowding Viktor again, one of them kneeling and looking at his skates. She points out the Russian flag on the side to her sisters, and one of them pulls out a phone.

A hand covers it, pushing it away from Viktor’s foot. “I’m sorry,” one of the bodyguards says, casting a shadow over the poor girl, “but we cannot allow photography right now. Put this away or I will be forced to remove it.”

The girl backs away, intimidated by the guard’s demeanor.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Yuuri says. “A simple ‘please’ would have sufficed.” His arms are crossed, water bottle held in one hand as he stares at the guard. “She’s a child,” he says, “not a member of the press. There’s no malicious intent.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. My apologies.”

Yuuri huffs. “I’m not the one owed an apology,” he replies with a nod towards the girl.

“Yes, Sire,” the guard says with a bow, before turning. “I apologize for the manner in which I spoke to you, young lady. I’m only trying to protect His Royal Majesty.”

The girl peeks out from behind her mother, nodding her head. The guard moves back to take his place on the wall. Viktor takes the posters still held in his direction and unfurls them on the boards to sign them.

Walking over to the Nishigori family, Yuuri smiles. “I’m terribly sorry about that,” he says. “Though I must ask for your discretion, about our time here and about Viktor’s practices in the future, and unfortunately that does mean we can’t allow picture and video, especially right now. For the next few days, the world will not know of our relationship, at least not beyond rampant speculation. I need it to stay that way.” Finishing his name in Cyrillic this time, Viktor adds a small heart-mouthed smiley face to the corner, making sure to include his bangs. It’s adorable, and he decides to keep doing it as he signs the rest.

“Of course,” Takeshi says. “The Nishigoris are loyal citizens. We wouldn’t betray your trust, Your Majesty.” He bows again, excessively if the look on Yuri’s face is to be trusted, but it doesn’t leave when Takeshi stands up. It takes a second for Yuuri to remember himself, but he gives a nod.

“The Crown appreciates your discretion and your service,” he says, somewhat robotically. “I thank you for allowing Viktor to train here. If there is anything the Palace or I can do for you,” he continues, “please inform us at your earliest convenience.”

Yuuko bows. “Of course, Your Majesty.” Yuuri manages to bury another grimace under an attempt at a smile.

It doesn’t take long for Viktor to finish signing the posters, and in short order he’s handing them back to the girls, now carrying tape and a step stool. They run off, and Viktor follows Yuuri back to the locker rooms. A quick shower later, Yuuri’s in his slacks and undershirt, bent over and towelling his hair off while Viktor pulls on his jeans. “This is so weird,” he says.

“Being back at the rink?”

“No, how the Nishigoris are acting.” He moves over to the sink, turning on the water and gelling back his hair with practiced movements. “It’s this… weird mix of formal and informal and I haven’t seen them since we were kids so it’s just… uncomfortable. I’m not used to formality with friends. Not anymore. Though,” he says with a sigh, “I guess it’s hard for them to see me as a friend now, if they ever did to begin with.”

“I can see how that would be, Velichestvo,” Viktor says, now drying his own hair. “Familiarity may come with time.”

“I hope it does.” Yuuri wipes the back of his neck, patting some of the excess water still running off his head before pulling his shirt on. Buttons done, he tucks it into his pants. Socks and shoes go on next, Yuuri putting on bona-fide sock garters on under his slacks, and he’s got the tie draped over his neck when he stops, staring at the mirror.

Grasping one end of the tie in each hand, he moves one across the other, before switching them, and switching back, frowning into the mirror.

“Do you need help?” Viktor asks. He pulls his sweater over his head and his comb out of his bag, moving to stand behind Yuuri.

“I don’t… entirely remember how they tied it earlier,” he says, “and I don’t… I didn’t wear suits often enough in the States to really need to learn how to tie one of these things.

“Which knot was it?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri shrugs, sighing “A Half Windsor? Full? I don’t remember.”

Standing on his tiptoes, Viktor reaches around Yuuri’s front, repositioning the tie until it’s aligned well. With deft hands, he ties a Half Windsor, tightening it until it’s an inch or so from Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri smiles at him.

“Thank you, Vitya,” he murmurs as he adjust the tie, pinning it to his shirt.

“Any time, Lyubov,” Viktor replies.

“Will you teach me?” Yuuri asks, pulling his waistcoat out of the garment bag.

“That knot?”

“Every knot,” Yuuri says. “Please teach me every knot you know, I’m going to need them if I keep being left alone to change into suits.”

Viktor smiles, running the comb through his hair. “I will,” he says, smiling further when Yuuri nods determinedly behind him.

Yuuri pulls on his jacket, adjusting everything in the mirror while Viktor packs up his gear. They’re quickly ready to leave, heading back to the front lobby of Ice Castle. The Palace Photographer is talking to them, gesturing at an area near one of their signs and moving his hand around quickly. When he sees Yuuri, he holds up one finger and walks over.

“Your Majesty,” he says, “we were thinking of a few photos marking the occasion. Just pictures with the Nishigori family and Mr. Nikiforov, nothing fancy.”

Yuuri nods. “Very well,” he says, as he and Viktor hand off their bags to the guards flanking them. “Where would you have us?”

The photographer lines everyone up, before moving behind his tripod to take the pictures. They rearrange several times, Some people standing, kneeling, shifting one way or the other as the photographer tries to get the best angles. They’re free to leave a few minutes later, Yuuri gracefully thanking the Nishigoris once more. Viktor says his goodbyes as well, promising to see them again within the next few days for practice.

 

~*~  

 

The first thing Viktor knows the next morning is that someone’s knocking on the door. The next is there’s a distinct lack of warmth in his arms and footsteps are padding across the hardwood. There are hushed voices, Yuuri’s alternating with a woman’s, with a bit soft laughter at the end. The door clicks shut after a moment, and Viktor rolls over when he hears Yuuri’s footsteps draw near.

“Mari wanted to know when we wanted to do breakfast,” he murmurs as he crawls into bed.

“What’d you tell her?” Viktor asks.

“We’ll be ready when we’re ready.”

Viktor laughs. “And what did she say?”

“She’ll see us in half an hour.” Yuuri buries his face in the pillow. “I don’t wanna get dressed,” he says, almost whining as he wraps his arms and legs around Viktor.

“You don’t want to show me around?”

Pulling back far enough to give him a _look,_ Yuuri stares for a second before sighing. “I do. You’re ok with Mari and my mom joining us?”

“Of course! I’m sure they have plenty of stories to tell of when you were a baby!”

Groaning, Yuuri rolls over so his back is facing Viktor. “I regret bringing you already,” he moans, before he goes still. Silence descends, settling heavily between them before Yuuri rolls back over, nuzzling into Viktor’s chest as he pulls him close. “I don’t. I don’t, I’d never,” he whispers.

“I know, Lyubov,” Viktor murmurs. “I know.”

Yuuri’s hair brushes his chest as he nods. Viktor kisses the top of his head, wraps one arm around Yuuri to rub his back. “We should get ready,” he says, “I’m excited to see your childhood home!”

There’s laughter, and the next thing Viktor knows Yuuri’s shifted himself so they’re at eye level. Putting his hand on Viktor’s cheek, he moves closer and his lips are soft and warm, gentle, and Viktor allows himself to sink into the kiss. It’s tender, drawn out for a few languid moments as they relish each other’s presence.

“I love you,” Yuuri says, smile bright in the morning sun.

Viktor kisses him again. “I love you, too. Let’s get dressed.”

With a groan, Yuuri rolls over in bed, propelling himself to his feet in a single fluid movement. Viktor climbs out of bed and heads towards the bathroom. “Do you mind?” he asks, and Yuuri waves him in. Once he’s made himself presentable, hair combed neatly, freshly-shaven with newly brushed teeth, he comes out to see Yuuri staring at his wardrobe.

“I don’t know what to wear,” he says quietly when Viktor approaches.

“Does it need to be your court stuff?”

“Yup. Touring the palace means people might see me. Like… staff. Who will pretty much be seeing me every day.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I really want jeans, though.” There are a few pairs in the wardrobe, hung up next to his formal pants, and he eyes them almost hungrily. In the end, he pulls out his court clothes, a relatively simple outfit with dark navy pants and a lighter blue shirt. He reaches for a blue undershirt when Viktor stops him.

“Lyubov you don’t need three different blues in one outfit. Get that green shirt, and that undershirt that matches the pants.” As he points to the garments, Yuuri pulls them out, grabbing a navy pair of boots to go with them. Rummaging through his sock drawer, he grabs a pair and turns around.

“What are _you_ wearing, then?”

“Jeans and a sweater.”

Yuuri looks at him enviously. “I’m gonna check and see if they require consorts to wear traditional clothing. At all times.”

Viktor shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”

“They ought to,” Yuuri mutters as he lays his clothes on the bed.

When they’re dressed and Yuuri’s gelled his hair back, put contacts in and a dark metal crown on his head, they head to the private dining room. Mari and Hiroko stand and greet them cheerfully as they pull off their shoes, moving over the tatami to take their seats at the table. After the attendants have brought and served the tea, Yuuri sighs. Mari gives him a small pinch on the cheek, and he swats her hand away with a glare. She pulls back quickly, hurt.

After a second, Yuuri’s eyes go wide. “Mari-chan, I didn’t- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his head. “I’m sorry.” One of the footmen standing near the doors looks surprised, quickly averting his eyes when Viktor makes contact.

“Yuuri-kun, it’s ok. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have pinched you.”

Moving to protest, Yuuri is interrupted by the attendants coming in with breakfast. Plates are set down quickly but near silently in front of them. As soon as they came, the attendants are gone, and Yuuri picks up his fork to poke at his sausages.

“Why are we having Western food?” he asks, resting his chin on his hand.

Hiroko glances at Mari before looking at her son. “We thought you’d like it better,” she says, “a bit of familiarity while you get used to being home.” Swallowing, Yuuri nods. “Would you prefer the normal menu?”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri says. “I can ask for a Western breakfast if I want one.” He shovels a bite of egg into his mouth.

“How did you sleep, Viktor?” Mari asks in an attempt to change the topic of conversation.

“Well!” he replies with a grin. “The skating yesterday helped tire me out, and Yuuri’s bed is so—”

Yuuri sputters, coughs, and takes a frantic sip of his still-hot tea before wincing and freezing in place.

“It’s not like nobody knows he’s been sleeping in your room, Yuuri,” Mari chimes in.

Bright red, Yuuri scowls at her.

“Yuuri,” she says, “you think they wouldn’t have gone to Viktor’s room in the mornings to ask if he wanted breakfast brought?”

Instead of responding, Yuuri looks away and sips his coffee.

“Anyway,” Viktor says, “it’s very comfortable!”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable, Vicchan!” Hiroko says, cheerful. “How was the rink?”

“Nice,” Viktor replies. “It’s perfect, I love the windows! Yuuri and I got to skate together, you should see him sometime, he’s amazing!”

“Vitya!” Blushing, Yuuri gapes at Viktor. “I’m not that good stop telling people—”

“Yuuri,” he interrupts, “Lyubov, you can _skate my program.”_

“I have to scale my jumps down and I—”

“You don’t compete and you only scale to triples when you’re in practice. That’s a Grand Prix Final gold medal program.” Viktor looks back at the Queen. “Ma’am, for someone with no intention to compete and inconsistent training, Yuuri’s amazing. He could out-skate some of my competitors if he put his mind to it!”

“That sounds lovely, Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says, affection bleeding through every word. “We’d love to see you skate!”

“Didn’t Vitya already show you, Kaa-san?”

Hiroko nods. “I saw a short video, yes, but I want to see it in person!”

“I didn’t see this video,” Mari interjects as Yuuri opens his mouth to respond.

Pulling out his phone, Viktor looks at her. “I can send them to you, if you want! Email? Texting?”

His offered phone is taken as Mari fills in her contact information. Yuuri, bright red, is poking at the potatoes on his plate. Glancing around, his eyes meet Viktor’s. When Viktor raises his eyebrows, silently asking if Yuuri’s alright, Yuuri pauses. He takes a sip of his tea, before meeting Viktor’s gaze and nodding. Viktor smiles at the princess.

“If you’d like, I can share a folder online with you and your mother. I’ll put pictures and video in from Detroit!”

“Phichit has plenty to add too,” Yuuri says. His tone is soft but sure, and he smiles at Viktor. Now that he has permission, he’ll ask Phichit to contribute what he can. The more intimate or embarrassing pictures won’t, of course, be shared, but there’s plenty that Yuuri should be fine with, plenty to help sate his family’s curiosity. Besides, it’s easy enough to check if there’s any question. The rest of the breakfast is spent in silence, as Viktor drops photos and video into an online drive. When he’s done, he sends an invitation to collaborate to Phichit, and a text explaining the purpose of the folder.

 

“Shall we go on the tour?” Yuuri says after they’ve cleared their plates. Everyone follows suit as he stands, and once shoes are put on they head out. “I figure since there aren’t tourists we can cover the main palace first.”

“That sounds lovely,” Hiroko says, looping her arm through Viktor’s.

Leading the way, Yuuri walks them out of the residential area, towards the rear of the palace. “We’re basically set up around a large courtyard,” he says, “with a separate, but connected building for offices towards the rear, giving private access to officials arriving, and away from the tour-ier areas of the palace. Since we actually do a lot of government work here, the privacy is necessary.”

They go through two guarded pairs of double doors, passing a hall going to the right. Though the hall remains the same, the doors have become more regular, placed along the wall in even intervals. “This area is apartments,” Yuuri says. “For foreign officials and select members of the government to stay in when visiting me personally. Second floor is the same.”

They finally head through another pair of double doors to a much busier area. “Offices,” Yuuri says. When people see him, they either bow or curtsy, (‘according to their preference,’ Yuuri notes) and Yuuri nods as he passes. He’s straightened more, his movements stiffer than they were. These are the people he works with, to an extent, and he must be under pressure to make and maintain a good impression. “Where’s _your_ office again, Velichestvo?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri turns around, smiling. “I have an office and parlor where I meet with people in this area, it’s the one you watched the funeral from, but the office I’ll do much of my work in is nearer to my rooms. Not by much, though. _That_ one’s connected to a private study with my books in it, and the sitting room I’d use with like, guests of the family with whom I’m not close enough to take to my rooms.”

“You have a separate office for meetings and work?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “Yes. The meetings I’m talking about are like, with people who are visiting or when someone’s bringing cameras. It’s more for public appearances? The working office is where I have my books on legislation and such, where I’ll actually be doing work-work. Most everyone else’s office is upstairs, here.” As they pass a vaguely-familiar reception desk, the receptionist stands and bows along with everyone else.

When they reach the end of the hallway, Yuuri pushes open the heavy wooden door leading into the spacious and somewhat imposing office. A large wooden desk sits in front of huge windows overlooking the grounds. Flanked by rich green curtains and bookshelves, it’s clear this office is made to be seen. The family’s crest is everywhere, from subtly woven into the moldings to emblazoned on the front of Yuuri’s desk and embroidered on the back of his chair. The carpet on the floor has a simplified version, covering a huge area. Now that Viktor’s looking at it without the funeral hanging over him, he can’t help but be impressed.

“What’s the difference between this office and your working one?”

“Really just the amount of papers on the desk. And the number of books at my fingertips.” He brushes his hand across the desk, fingers lingering over ornate metalwork inlaid in the wood. Something about his expression is sad, and he opens the drawer directly in front of the chair, reaching in and pulling out a small bag. “Do you want a piece of watermelon candy?” he asks as he pulls it open. Viktor holds his hand out, and Yuuri drops a piece in. “Mari?” he asks.

Mari swallows, and with a sad smile takes one, unwrapping it gingerly. “Kaa-san?” Yuuri asks.

“I’d love one, Yuuri-kun,” she says, accepting the offered piece.

Yuuri looks at Viktor. “My dad used to give us candy when we’d come visit. This used to be the working office as well, but my dad decided he didn’t need a sitting room, a smoking parlor, and a study all in one place, so he had the parlor converted to a working office so it was less trouble when people were visiting.” He pops his piece of candy in his mouth at the same time Viktor does and looks down at the bag, staring. Sniffling, he uses his sleeve to wipe a tear away. “Always, though, whenever Mari and I showed up, he’d give us candy and ask about our day.”

“It was adorable when we were young,” Mari says. “Yuuri would come in here and tell elaborate stories about a caterpillar he saw or a book he was read. One time he spent ten minutes trying to tell Dad there should be a law against bedtimes.” She and Hiroko chuckle, a smile creeping onto Yuuri’s face as he looks fondly at the bag.

“I remember when Minako-sensei brought me some after I graduated, one of you had written that you guys were proud of me.”

“Your father,” Hiroko says as she softly pats Yuuri’s arm. “That was your father that wrote on the bag, it was his idea.”

Yuuri nods, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle the tears threatening to fall. As Yuuri breathes, pulling himself together. Viktor sucks on the candy in his mouth. It’s sweet, but slightly tart.

“The candy is delicious,” he says.

“Watermelon candies are my favorite,” Yuuri muses, “as far as fruity candies go.”

“Are Kit Kats your all-time favorite?”

“I never told you that,” Yuuri says.

“You didn’t, Lyubov, but Phichit did mention you taking all of the Kit Kats after you bought all that Halloween candy.”

“By ‘mentioned’ you mean ‘complained about?’ Because he told me he didn’t _like_ Kit Kats and only clarified later.”

Viktor laughs. “Well, yes.”

Yuuri gives a rather impressive eye roll. “I offered to buy him more but he said it wasn’t in the spirit of things if it wasn’t discounted Halloween candy, so that’s his own fault.”

“I see.”

After another long glance around the room, Yuuri smiles as he walks towards a door Viktor hadn’t noticed his first time here, pushing it open and holding it open for everyone to pass through. They enter a formal sitting room, with a hearth and armchairs, everything carefully arranged and spotless. “There’s no balcony for this office or this sitting room, unlike the other. The windows are bulletproof and don’t open without a lot of effort.”

“Yuuri,” Mari says, standing next to a tall bookshelf in one corner of the room.

“Huh?”

“Do you remember climbing this?”

Frowning, Yuuri thinks for a second before his eyes widen. “When I got stuck on top! Yeah, I remember! You kept saying you’d catch me if I jumped but it took four attendants and Dad to coax me down.”

“I could have caught you!”

“Mari you were like twelve, there was no way you were going to catch a four-year-old. What if I’d smashed my face open on the side table of the armchair?”

Opening her mouth to argue, Mari seems to think better of it. “Yes,” she concedes, “you’re right. I’d probably have dropped you.”

Yuuri gives a nod, before heading to the other door in the sitting room. This one leads them back into the same hallway, and Yuuri takes them back the way they came. They take a left, going through part of the residential area. They pass through another guarded set of double doors, and shortly down the hall Yuuri turns into another room. This office is similar to the first, though with a more utilitarian feel with bookshelves lining the walls. The desk is similar, and holds a computer and a small stack of papers.

“This is the working office,” Yuuri says, looking around. “I haven’t been in here too much, it was still a parlor when I left. Which one’s the sitting room, Mari?”

“To the right,” she says, gesturing at another door, propped open against the wall. Yuuri goes in, and inside is a comfortable-looking array of armchairs and a window seat in the corner. Doors lead to a balcony outside, overlooking a central courtyard. The fireplace has a landscape painting over it, the view of Hasetsu from the top of a nearby hill. The ocean dominates much of the picture.

Yuuri tugs on his sleeve. “The study is the other way, back through the office,” he says, leading the way. Viktor, Mari, and Hiroko follow him into a comfortable room with walls lined with books. There’s a hearth in here as well, reclining leather chairs and a few small tables for tea. On one wall is a window seat, lined with pillows. Yuuri smiles.

“I fell asleep there more than once,” he says softly. “I’d be with my parents while someone was visiting and when I got tired I just sorta… crawled up on there and went to sleep.”

“We used to have to carry him to his room,” Hiroko says, smiling. “He’d fall asleep whenever he got tired, no matter where we were, as long as there was something to lay his head on. At one point we were in a parade celebrating our independence, Yuuri-kun was about three years old, and five minutes in he was snoring against my side, a little trail of drool running down his cheek. It didn’t matter that there was drumming and fanfare, he was so tired!”

Viktor grins. “When we were in Russia—”

“Vitya what are you—”

“We were at dinner,” Viktor continues, flashing Yuuri a wink. “He fell asleep on my shoulder and slipped off. He ended up hitting his face on the table in front of him!”

“Jet lag’s a pain in the ass,” Yuuri mutters, “and I’d been exhausted. I wasn’t sleeping well at all. For _weeks_ at that point.”

Viktor frowns. “You seemed to sleep just fine when I was there.”

Crossing his arms, Yuuri looks out the window. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “I did.” Pink tinges his cheeks and it takes a second to register what Yuuri means.

“Easier to sleep when you’re not alone?”

Yuuri meets his eyes. “Easier to sleep when I’m with _you,”_ he replies.

_Oh, Yuuri…_ Viktor walks over, kisses Yuuri’s forehead and smiles at him. Returning the smile, Yuuri kisses his lips before looking back at his family. “I got a bloody nose,” he says to them. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Is there anywhere you _won’t_ fall asleep?” Mari asks with a smirk.

Yuuri just shrugs. “Probably not, honestly. I’ve fallen asleep against the boards in the rink—”

“On the carpet, right?” Viktor asks, concerned.

Giving him an odd look, Yuuri blushes. “No, I was on the ice. Sitting against the boards, balanced on my toe picks. Ciao Ciao was impressed.”

“And Phichit?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Took a picture he’s _still_ waiting to post, I’m sure. But I’ve fallen asleep in lectures, at the break room of the café, on a tractor once…”

“A tractor?” Mari asks. She looks at Hiroko with wide eyes, and back at Yuuri.

“Mari I went to high school in rural Michigan. Tractors were part of daily life. Anyway, I was helping a friend with some field work.”

“Like on a farm?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “Crops, livestock and everything.”

“Huh,” she says, pursing her lips. “I didn’t realize things were like that.”

“Like what?” Yuuri’s looking at her now, puzzled.

Mari looks at him. “I didn’t realize you _had_ to work at the café and on a farm and stuff.”

“Oh, I volunteered for that,” Yuuri says, cheerful before his face falls just a bit. “Palace said I had to stop because I got sunburned and apparently working with heavy machinery is on their list of things not to do. Working at the café was… I just wanted to see what it was like. Having a job. The Palace’s stipend was more than adequate, I didn’t _need_ the money, but working sounded like it’d be an interesting experience.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Yuuri brightens up. “I did! I got to make coffee and people yelled at me.”

“People _yelled_ at you?!”

Sheepishly, Yuuri smiles. “Yeah, I mean, it’s an unfortunate part of working in customer service. I didn’t… at the time it sucked but looking back now, after… everything, it’s kinda… nice,” he says. “That and I know how not to be an asshole.”

Pulling up the picture of the Makkaccino, Viktor grins, holding out his phone. “He made this for me! It almost felt like a crime to drink it.”

“Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says, smiling, “that’s adorable!”

“Not as adorable as his actual dog,” Yuuri mutters, blushing. It’s impossible to tell if he blurted it out by accident or if it’s a legitimate, if terrible, attempt at flirting. Either way, it’s the most adorable thing Viktor has heard. Yuuri, flustered, stammers an attempt at a topic change before giving up, falling silent.

Hiroko laughs as Yuuri turns back towards the door. They head out into the hall, continuing down.

“These are… additional guest rooms, parlors and such, upstairs,” he says after clearing his throat, gesturing at the ceiling. “Downstairs the rooms are…”

He looks at Mari.

“Mostly irrelevant,” she says as they walk. “There are bathrooms, smaller apartments, spare rooms in case we need them for something. A few of the smaller music rooms.” They pass through guarded doors and make another turn to a much wider hallway, with a ceiling much higher than the one they’d just left.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Yuuri. “This…” he says, trailing off as he looks around. “This is the fancy area.”

“As opposed to the rest of the palace?” Viktor asks. It comes out with more of a bite than it probably should have, and Yuuri makes a face at him as he blushes. Taking an immediate right, they enter a small ballroom. Yuuri grins, walking towards the back. He crouches down near the windows before standing and waving Viktor over. When Viktor gets there, he points.

“See the discoloration? How the stain is very slightly different here?”

Taking a knee, Viktor looks. There’s a darker spot just barely visible where Yuuri’s pointing. “I see it. Is this where you chipped it?”

Yuuri nods. “Yup.” He stands again, looking at his mom. “When did you finally fix it?” he asks.

“A few months after you left.” Hiroko smiles at Viktor. “Vicchan, when he was just learning to crawl he had such trouble on this floor. It’s too slippery to get much traction, and his knees would go everywhere! Like a baby deer on ice,” she says, looking at Yuuri fondly. “You’ve gotten so big.”

Yuuri grins, bending over and unhooking his boots.

“Yuuri, what are you doing?” Mari asks.

“Shush, it’ll be fun,” he says with a mischievous smile, setting his boots to the side and backing up a few steps.

“Yuuri.”

“Mari.” Giving his sister a look, Yuuri gets ready and takes a few rapid steps forward, letting himself slide a few feet before stopping. He does it again, and Viktor unties his shoes and sets them next to Yuuri’s.

“Lyubov,” Viktor says to Yuuri across the room. “High-five?” He’s posed, clearly ready to do the same thing, and Yuuri grins, nodding. Simultaneously, they both run a few steps forward and they slide, Viktor letting out a laugh after their hands connect solidly. Yuuri stumbles a few steps, grabbing the crown on his head to keep it from clattering across the floor. Sheepishly, he looks back. Hiroko looks overjoyed and Mari’s not even trying to hold back her smile, but there’s sadness in their eyes as well.

Yuuri takes a deep, shaking breath. “We should continue,” he says as he pulls his shoes on. Viktor follows suit, and they head out the door.

“What did you see on your tour the other day, Viktor?” Yuuri asks.

“Some of the residential area, downstairs with the common areas and such. The library. We passed some ballrooms, and she took me into a few of the sitting rooms and out onto the grounds a bit before I came in for lunch.”

“So you’ve seen much of this,” Yuuri says, gesturing around the hall as they exit the ballroom.

“The smaller rooms, yes.”

“Have you seen the throne room, Viktor?” Mari asks.

“No,” Viktor says. “Not in person.”

Mari takes them to a set of stairs leading to a grand pair of double doors, each with the Royal Crest. Yuuri takes a breath, grabbing Viktor’s hand before walking up the stairs. As he approaches, two attendants rush forward, opening the doors just before they get there and bowing as Yuuri walks in.

The throne room is more imposing in person, and while the dais only rises a few feet above the floor it dominates the space. Yuuri hangs back, looking at the throne and its surroundings. The walls are relatively simple, plain enough to not draw the eye and detract from the throne itself. Yuuri makes his way slowly to the dais as Viktor walks alongside him, stopping at the foot. He puts his arm around Viktor, settling into him with a sigh.

“I remember seeing my dad crowned,” he says softly. “I was there,” he points at the same place Mari and Hiroko stood during his coronation, “but they had me sit there.” Pointing at a smaller chair to the right of the throne, he sighs. “I was officially given the title of Crown Prince at that point.”

“I didn’t see that during yours,” Viktor says.

Yuuri sighs. “My uncle has the flu and couldn’t make it. They don’t allow proxies for giving titles of any sort, so I’m going to have to officially appoint him at some other time, though they likely won’t make a ceremony of it.” He looks at Mari, frowning. “The title should be yours,” he says softly. “Or still mine. This is your birthright, too.”

Mari gives him a strange look. “Walls have ears,” is all she says with a hint of pride.

Nodding, Yuuri rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “You know,” he says absently, “If we get married they’re going to have to put the Consort’s throne back up there.”

Viktor looks up at the throne, tries to imagine how it would feel to sit on one. “May I?” he asks, gesturing at the dais. Yuuri looks at him, then nods.

“Don’t sit down,” he says, “but you can go up on the platform thing.”

Detaching from Yuuri, Viktor walks over to the steps and up them, turning to look over the room. The feeling that fills him is indescribable, a profound sense of awe mixed with something akin to hesitation and dread, but not quite. It stirs deep in his gut, knowing he could be here one day in an official capacity, next to Yuuri, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s good or bad. He walks down before his head starts to spin.

Yuuri takes his hand with a smile. They head back into the hall, ending up in an opulent ballroom, this one hung with several ornate metalwork chandeliers.

“This is where he snuck around under the tables,” Mari laughs. “Reaching up and taking cream puffs off the table.”

“I like cream puffs,” Yuuri says, “and the kitchens wouldn’t give me any.”

“They needed them for the banquet, Yuuri.”

“They coulda given me the janky ones but they didn’t.”

Mari rolls her eyes. They go down the hall to what Yuuri describes as the ‘smaller’ dining room, which is itself massive. Viktor sees why, though, when they go into a larger one towards the front of the palace. This one is huge and quite long, with a raised dais at the end.

“That’s where they stick us,” Yuuri says. “The Royal Family eats there, and then everyone else is positioned around the room depending on status or something.”

“It’s dependent on status and how close they are, personally, to the Royal Family,” Mari adds.

“Yeah, that,” Yuuri says, nodding. “You’ll be up there if we have a formal dinner, as Suitor.”

“You wouldn’t be sitting next to him though unless you were engaged.” Glancing at Viktor, Yuuri nods. He pulls his phone out, googling something quickly. Mari glances over his shoulder, snorting when he brings something up on screen.

He holds the phone out to Viktor. In the picture, the Royal Family is seated at a table on the dais Yuuri had just pointed out. His parents are seated in the center, both chatting quietly with small smiles. To the King’s right, a very young Yuuri is cross-eyed, staring at a large gob of vanilla ice cream perched on the tip of his nose. It's clear he’s about to start giggling. Mari, on Hiroko's left, is leaning over her bowl, one long tendril of hair nearly skimming the top of her ice cream with an expression of shocked laughter. It’s surprisingly domestic, especially when Yuuri scrolls to a follow-up picture of his father using an embroidered napkin to wipe the ice cream off, eyes sparkling behind an obligatory serious expression.

Viktor looks back across the room. The decor hasn’t changed at all since the picture was taken, and it’s not difficult to imagine the scene as if it were happening in front of him. “That was the coronation dinner, a few weeks after the event. I was five.”

“You were adorable!” Viktor says, laughing good-naturedly as he wraps his arms around Yuuri from behind. He feels Yuuri’s hands on his own as he kisses his cheek.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers, easing into his embrace. He sighs, pulling away.

They go back into the hall out a different door, this time exiting into the large entryway. It’s grand, with a staircase in the center leading up to the dining room they just left. They descend the stairs, and as Viktor looks around he recognizes the entrance they’d used when they first arrived, and the one Yuuri walked through during the coronation. At the bottom, Yuuri takes a few turns into a small hallway. He pushes open a nondescript door to his right. It’s instantly recognizable as a dance studio. The floor is smooth but intricately patterned hardwood. The mirrors on the walls are spotless, the ballet barre showing few signs of wear. There’s a picture of an older man on the wall near the door.

“That’s my grandfather,” Yuuri says. “The one who had this room converted for me.”

“How old were you?” Viktor asks curiously, walking around the room.

“Four,” Yuuri replies wistfully. “I loved going to Minako-sensei’s studio, this was back when she had one still, but she was hired on to help tutor me and train me up, and I was sad because I really wanted to dance, still, but I couldn’t use the ballrooms because they didn’t have a barre.”

“By ‘sad,’” Mari says, “he means nearly inconsolable.”

“I was an anxious child,” Yuuri retorts.

Mari looks at him blankly. “What does that… why is that relevant?”

He glances at Viktor. It’s clear he hasn’t discussed everything about how he manages his anxiety with his family. “Moving helps me calm down,” he says, “helps me think. I think dance helped with the stress, even back then.” Running his hand along the barre, he walks the length of the room. He looks at Viktor. “I’ve always known I was destined to be King, and I’ve always been expected to act like it,” he says. “Even when I was in hiding I was expected, at home and later in Minako’s studio, to conduct myself accordingly. Good posture, speaking properly… generally acting like a prince.”

“Did they defer to you, too, Yuuri?” Mari asks curiously. “Or were they not supposed to do that? I don’t know how everything worked while you were in hiding.”

“They did,” Yuuri says. “They wanted to keep me in the habit of everything, including having authority, because I could go home at any moment. It’s easier to keep habits than re-train them. My bodyguard had a little bit of a weird thing going because she was technically in charge of me? Like, she was raising me so she had to, you know, be authoritative but also treat me… like a prince. It was strange. Minako had an easier time of it.”

“I see,” Mari says. “But you acted common outside of the house?”

Yuuri nods. “And they acted the part in public, too. Being really familiar and stuff. Calling me by my name.”

“Was it weird?”

Looking at his sister, Yuuri lets out a sigh. “At first, yeah. Then I mostly got used to it. Having other people call me by name wasn’t as weird for some reason? But Hana and Minako doing it definitely took me off-guard sometimes. Mostly Minako.”

“So how was it with Phichit?” Mari looks as if she has a million more questions on her tongue, but she waits patiently for Yuuri’s answer.

Rubbing his arm right over where Viktor knows the goose bite scar to be, Yuuri glances around. “Normal at first, for the most part. He called me Yuuri and we were best friends, I just… happened to secretly be a prince. Phichit treated it more like fun than anything else, though he made sure to be careful.”

“What do you mean, fun?” Crossing her arms, Mari leans against the wall.

“Playful ribbing. My name in his phone is Prince Buttercup. He’d always say I failed completely at being a normal person, but he’d always help fix whatever I’d messed up.” A fond look in his eyes, Yuuri smiles. “He treats it as just… as if it were just another personality trait. He doesn’t let it makes things weird.”

Viktor moves forward. “You said at first, Velichestvo?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “He thought it would be a good idea to start practicing with the whole title thing during my lessons, when he was home for them. Always said it would help to get used to it before he was forced to after I’d come back. Hana-neechan agreed with him. I wasn’t a fan.” Displeasure clear on his face, Yuuri opens the door, leading them back into the hall. It takes a few minutes, but shortly they’re in front of a familiar, imposing set of heavy wooden doors, which are opened by footmen to reveal a staggering number of books arranged neatly on shelves.

Viktor can’t help but look around at the library, the sight just as impressive as it was the first time, and he smiles when he notices Yuuri doing the same. As they make their way down the center aisle, Yuuri glances at each of the pictures to the side, stopping suddenly when he reaches the end. Coming to stand next to him, Viktor looks up at the massive painting, and then to Yuuri, enraptured by his younger self.

“I look so bored,” he says softly. “So solemn.”

“You were,” Mari says. “You took your role as Crown Prince seriously as you got older.”

“I didn’t remember that.” Frowning at the painting, Yuuri crosses his arms over his chest. “When I remembered being home, it was always happy things. Playing with you, afternoons spending time with everyone. Riding horses and such.”

Hiroko steps forward, looping her arm through Yuuri’s. “This was just after your father decided you needed to be prepared for having responsibility and being more involved in society. He sat you down for a long talk one afternoon a few days before your first Official Engagement with him.”

“Over tea and cookies, yeah,” Yuuri says. “I kinda remember now. Talked about the country looking to me and all that.”

“Weren’t you six or seven?” Viktor asks. Yuuri’d said he’d left the country young, and that seems far too young for that sort of burden to be placed on his shoulders.

Yuuri looks at him, swallowing before speaking quietly, “I was Crown Prince, Viktor.” It’s all the explanation he offers, looking back up at the painting. “It was weird having my hair cut after I left.”

“I see it didn’t stay weird,” Mari says, running her fingers through the shorter hair on the back of his head.

“After fifteen years to get used to it, I should hope it’s stopped being weird.” He bats her hand away, but quickly wraps his arm around his sister in apology. She squeezes his shoulder, kissing the top of his head. In short order, they head out, but before they leave the library Yuuri makes sure to show Viktor the borrowing system. It’s relatively easy, linked to the ID card Viktor will get once the Palace processes his paperwork. He hadn’t realized even the Royal Family carried them around until Yuuri pulled his out of his shirt. It’s shiny, newly-printed, and has a picture of him with a simple black shirt on and his hair pulled back. He almost looks like he did in his work uniform, missing only the burgundy apron straps.

“Your picture looks like you at the café,” he says, and Yuuri smiles when he looks at the card.

“It does, if I didn’t wear my glasses, yeah. Speaking of,” he says, looking at Mari and Hiroko, “coffee sounds good right now. I’d like to show Viktor the kitchens.”

“Lead the way, Your Majesty,” Mari says, grinning.

Yuuri glances between her and Viktor, then at Hiroko, and back at Mari. “Umm. Well, yes. Ok!” Giving a nod, he heads purposefully out the door. They wander the maze of hallways for a bit, through the residential area and back out the way they came, until Mari clears her throat.

“Your Majesty,” she says, demure, “I would be more than happy to lead the way, with your permission.” There’s a smirk playing across her face now, a clear sign that she knows full well Yuuri’s gotten lost.

“That’ll be acceptable, Your Highness,” he replies with a thinly-veiled pout. Mari links his arm and pulls him in the right direction. They make their way to a small hall off to the side, coming before a relatively simple, wide wooden door. Mari leads them through the palace and down a sturdy flight of stairs, and through another pair of swinging wooden doors.

A hush comes over the kitchen they've entered, almost everyone coming to an instant standstill. Yuuri looks around, swallowing, before moving to raise his hand in a wave. He catches himself quickly, clasping his hands in front of him, and he gives the room a nod as the kitchen staff bows.

“Back to your stations,” a familiarly-accented voice says, sending the staff scattering as a woman walks through the doors. “Your Majesty,” she says, “welcome home, and welcome back to the kitchens.”

“Chef Elena,” Yuuri says, smiling. He’s vibrating with energy, clearly excited. “I'd like to introduce my partner,” he says as he gestures at Viktor.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he says, holding his hand out.

She takes it, shaking firmly. _“Welcome,”_ she says in fluid Russian, _“I am Elena Andreyevna Petrova, Assistant Head Chef of His Majesty’s Palace.”_

_“Ah, a fellow Russian!”_ Viktor replies. _“Viktor Alexandrovich Nikoforov,”_ he says, offering his patronymic, _“it's a pleasure to meet you.”_ Switching back to English, he looks at Yuuri. “Is this the neighbor from the goose incident?”

“What neighbor?” he responds, confused.

“You said your neighbor brought you sushki and tea after you got attacked by that goose at the park,” Viktor says, and Yuuri's mouth makes an ‘o’ of understanding.

“Ahhh, yeah. Yeah, she is, sorry. It would have been weird if I’d said she was our chef. And the attack was… on the grounds, like four hundred feet from the back staircase.” Sheepishly, he grins. “Anyway. Chef Elena, Vitya taught me to make borscht. I’d missed it,” he says, smiling. His posture, while still ramrod-straight, is somehow more open and relaxed around the chef.

She smiles. “It’s good to see you were taken care of while you were gone. And you taught him to cook!”

“I did my best,” Viktor replies with a nod.

Mari looks at them. “If it pleases you, Your Majesty,” she says (and Yuuri still looks vaguely uncomfortable, as much as he tries to hide it,) “I, as well as our mother, would very much appreciate the opportunity to try this borscht, should the occasion arise.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Yuuri says, smiling. Despite the formality of the tone, Viktor can see how excited Mari and Hiroko are to try Yuuri’s cooking, and Yuuri’s excitement to show them. “Chef Elena,” he says, “do we have an espresso machine available for use?”

With a slight bow, she gestures towards a small door. “Over here, Your Majesty. If you’ll follow me?”

Yuuri nods, gesturing for her to lead the way.

They make their way to a small room off the kitchen, full of teas and coffees, serving sets and various containers on the wall. A gleaming espresso machine lies at the opposite end of the room, and Yuuri gravitates towards it quickly. He looks over the buttons, before nodding to himself and closing the door. Removing the silver crown from his head, he sets it gently on a clean wooden cutting board, before tying back his sleeves and putting on an apron. The chef watches with interest, leaning against the counter while Mari and Hiroko stand fairly close to the machine, eager to see what Yuuri’s doing.

“I would be happy to assist you, Majesty,” she says, but Yuuri just smiles shyly and shakes his head.

“I worked in a coffee shop,” he replies as he pulls five latte mugs off a nearby shelf. “I like making drinks for people. May I trust your discretion?”

“Absolutely, Sire,” the chef says.

Grabbing milk from the walk-in cooler, Yuuri gets to work. The first latte made, he decorates with a flower, a very simplified rose, and holds out to his mother. “Kaa-san,” he says, beaming with pride. Hiroko takes it gently, looking down at the drink with a smile. Lifting it to her lips, she takes a slow sip.

“It’s delicious,” she says.

Blushing, Yuuri whips up another, embellishing the top with what looks like a fish, before holding the cup out to Mari. He makes another quickly, topping it with a leaf before he hands it to the chef with a smile. “I told you when I was a kid,” he says, “we’d have coffee together one day.”

“That you did, Your Majesty.” She takes it, grinning at him proudly. “I recall that was in response to being told you weren’t _allowed_ coffee, Sire.”

“A promise is a promise,” Yuuri says, cheeks dusted with pink.

“That it is, Majesty,” the chef laughs as Mari stifles a snort.

“This is really good, Yuuri,” Mari says as she sips her latte. “I can see why Viktor started dating you.”

“Mari!” he shouts, face turning a vivid red.

“Oh my god,” she says, “you flirted with coffee, didn’t you?”

Wrapping his arms around Viktor, Yuuri groans into his chest. “Save me,” he moans, muffled by Viktor’s shirt.

“You don’t want me to tell them how you showed up at my house with drinks, food, and a pound of coffee after I twisted my ankle?”

“You, too?” he asks, pained.

“That is _adorable,”_ Mari says. “What else did he do?”

Yuuri doesn’t show any sign of actually _wanting_ Viktor to stop, so he grins. “He figured out how to make my favorite drink from Russia!” he responds, smiling at Mari and Hiroko. “And he used to show up at the rink with drinks after every practice.”

“I was bringing them for Phichit and Ciao Ciao as well, you know.”

“You didn’t start bringing them drinks until after I started skating there,” Viktor responds, kissing the top of Yuuri’s hair. “May I have a Raf, Velichestvo?” He uses the formal, since he’s not entirely sure whether or not they’re in private with the chef present. Yuuri nods into his chest, combing his hair into place as he pulls back.

He whips up a Raf, doing his best to decorate the drink with a heart on the top before handing it to Viktor with scarlet cheeks. Viktor takes it gingerly, the tips of his fingers brushing Yuuri’s hands as he wraps them around his mug. _“Spacibo, vashe Velichestvo,”_ he whispers before taking a sip.

The drink no longer brings memories of home, he notes, at least not at first. It brings back mornings spent in the café, giddy kisses after an amazing practice.  The taste makes him think of Yuuri, and he savors it. “Delicious,” he says softly, “as usual. Thank you.”

_“Pozhaluysta, Vitya,”_ Yuuri responds with a kiss. “Any time.”

With practiced motions, Yuuri whips up his own drink, topping it with some sort of vague swirly sort of shape. Out of habit, he washes the equipment he used and wipes down his workstation. He hangs up his apron and washes his hands, drying them with a dishtowel he drapes over a hook near the sink. Putting his hands on his hips, he nods at the now-spotless machine with pride before turning back. “So that’s what I spent almost three years of my life doing,” he says.

“You’re so good at it, Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says, “it's wonderful.” Somehow that makes Yuuri beam even brighter as he unties his sleeves, letting them fall to his wrists before putting his crown back on his head.

“Thank you, Kaa-san.”

“Your Majesty,” the chef says, stepping forward, “would you like a tour of the updated kitchens? They've changed quite a bit since you were here last.”

“I’d love one,” Yuuri replies, picking up his coffee.

The chef guides them through the kitchens, explaining the purpose and features of each. She introduces some of the high level staff, who keep their heads lowered as Yuuri greets them. Viktor doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses Yuuri’s face. Still, he thanks each for their service, addressing them by name with a smile and Hiroko beams, proud. Each time they leave an area, Viktor can hear the burst of fierce whispering behind them as the kitchen staff talk about the missing prince-turned-king.

Their tour of the kitchen concludes in a small dining area overlooking the grounds. The window is low, but the palace is built on a hill and the view of the gardens is pleasant, though still partially blanketed by snow. Yuuri smiles, sitting at the table and taking a long sip of his coffee. He wiggles a little, grinning more. “This booth always has had the nicest cushions,” he says, “I’m thinking about having them remake the throne now. I’d like sitting in it more if it were more comfortable.”

“Yuuri, you barely sit in it anyway,” Mari points out.

“It’s the principal of the thing,” he says. “Chef Elena?”

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

“Would you prepare lunch for us?” Now that food is mentioned, Viktor’s stomach growls. Breakfast had been delicious and filling for sure, but since then they’ve trekked through the entire palace, up and down stairs, and between the tour itself and the amount of time it’s taken, breakfast is a fond yet distant memory as far as his body is concerned.

“As you wish, Sire, what is it you’ll be having?”

Yuuri looks at Viktor. “Anything in particular you want, Vitya? Something Russian?”

“Solyanka sounds really good right about now, actually,” he says.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the ingredients for solyanka, Mr. Nikiforov,” Chef Elena replies, “however if it’s Russian food you’re after I could whip up some pelmeni if you like.”

“Pelmeni?” Yuuri looks at Viktor with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s a sort of dumpling,” Viktor says, “with a meat filling. Similar to wontons. They’re very good!”

“That sounds wonderful, Vicchan,” Hiroko says.

Yuuri nods in agreement, “some pelmeni, then, please.”

Chef Elena bows. “Where will you be taking your lunch, Your Majesty?”

Glancing between Mari and Hiroko, Yuuri shrugs. “Do we want to walk all the way back to the dining room or my rooms or what?”

“Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says, “why don’t we take lunch in your rooms? It’ll be more comfortable, I’d think.”

“That sounds good,” he agrees. “We’ll take lunch in my room, please.”

With another bow, Chef Elena smiles. “Yes sir, your lunch will be ready within the hour.”

 

They’re most of the way to the residential area when a sign catches Viktor’s attention. He walks closer, unheeding of the fact that Yuuri and his family have continued on. He gapes as his eyes look over the text, two sections in slightly-different Japanese, with the English below.

_For a map of the palace and grounds, and additional information for your tour,_ _  
_ _Please download our app at akitsuroyalpalace.gvt.ak/eng_   
(English)

He looks over as Yuuri comes up next to him. “You guys have an app?”

Yuuri frowns, eyes skimming over the sign before he looks at Mari, behind him. “We have an app?”

She grins, holding up her phone. “Don’t download that one, there’s a separate app for us and the staff. I’ll get you login credentials, Viktor. Yuuri, yours should be the same as your palace email.”

“What’s the difference?” Viktor asks, lowering his phone.

“This app,” Mari says, gesturing at the sign, “is for visitors. Tour information, opening and closing times, holidays, services, descriptions of the stuff on display, etcetera. Our map is more comprehensive and shows areas of the palace inaccessible by the general public. Including the residential wing,” she says, looking at Viktor.

“It also has scheduling as far as what events are happening when, the program we use to input requests, and your personal schedules as far as royal functions are concerned. You can set up your own events as well, in order to have your entire schedule in the same place.”

“That’s convenient,” Yuuri mutters, logging into the newly-downloaded app. As he scrolls, Viktor can see a colorful schedule, full to the brim. He doubts the palace bothers to schedule free time, and something twists in his gut as he swallows, remembering the coronation. Remembering Yuuri’s promise to put his duty above all else.

“Vitya?”

When Viktor looks up, Yuuri’s frowning at him. “Vitya,” he says, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, nodding. “I’m fine. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so tired today!” Smiling, he allows himself a yawn.

Hiroko just takes his arm, patting it gently, before taking them in the direction of Yuuri’s rooms.

 

~*~

 

The morning of the announcement, Viktor has his first practice. It’s not long, just to get him moving again for a bit before the hard training begins, but he appreciates the quiet. The workout itself helps, too, getting his blood coursing through his body, giving his muscles a way to relieve the tension they’ve been holding for the past week. It’s not enough, he thinks as he showers. Sometimes the only good way to get rid of nerves is by skating them out, and he won’t have time to do that until tomorrow.

Still, the itchiness, the need to _do_ something has lessened, and for that he’s grateful. When they arrive at the palace, he’s shuttled into his rooms, given a three-piece suit and told to be ready within the half hour. By the time he’s dressed, his hair is dry enough to style, and he smiles at his reflection as he takes in the cut of the dark grey suit. The slacks are perfectly tailored, the waistcoat and jacket cut to show off the shape of his body. The tailoring is truly exquisite and the tie (and handkerchief,) blue, is the perfect splash of color. Putting his nicest black leather shoes on, he heads into the hall. An attendant meets him at the door, bowing. “I’m here to escort you to His Majesty’s office, Mr. Nikiforov.”

By now, Viktor’s pretty confident that he knows the way, but it wouldn’t do to get lost when the PR crew is waiting for him. Yuuri will be doing most of the talking, sure, but Viktor’s presence is still required. The world will have to start seeing them as a unit, he’s reminded during the walk. Determined, he nods, steeling himself as he’s let into the office.

Yuuri sits in front of his desk. He’s wearing a formal blue shirt, with simple, darker blue embroidery on the front flap, and a black undershirt. A silver and blue crown rests on his head, the swirling design of the metal echoing the embroidery. The camera technicians finish fixing the lighting while he reads the text of the announcement in front of him. Viktor pulls at his collar, adjusting his tie. The blue is similar to the embroidery on Yuuri's shirt. They need to appear as a cohesive unit, and apparently that comes down to coordinating their outfits. When directed to, he stands just off camera, ready to take his place at Yuuri's side when he’s supposed to. They’ll be doing this twice, once in Japanese for the nation, and another time in English, the announcement for the world. The Palace wants to get the English first, so they can start subtitling it in various languages for its release worldwide.

The added benefit is that Viktor will have an easier time with his cues. He sighs softly, while they start rolling.

Yuuri leans slightly forward with the trace of a smile on his face and twinkling through his eyes as he begins with his well-rehearsed statement.

“I wish to extend my warmest greetings to the citizens of Akitsushima, and to all people of the world. My announcement today is rather personal in nature and, if the internet is to be believed, much-anticipated. Before I get to the topic at hand, I wish to express my appreciation, again, for the enthusiastic welcome I’ve received since publicly resuming my royal duties.” He nods his head in a slight bow.

“Due to the nature of my time abroad, and my focus on developing and maintaining political acumen, I found it difficult to develop lasting, meaningful relationships with those around me. While I attended school, much of my spare time was used for additional education, specifically in matters of politics and court, in order to ensure my preparedness for my eventual return to my duties as Crown Prince. It was only when I began to attend college and integrate myself into society that I found someone I truly wanted to hold onto. Specifically, Mr. Viktor Nikiforov.” He gestures to his side, and Viktor moves to sit at the chair next to him with a polite smile, giving a shallow bow to the camera.

“It is my honor and distinct pleasure to formally announce my courtship with Mr. Nikiforov,” he says with a briefly genuine smile. “In the year before my return, Mr. Nikiforov and I grew close, moving from acquaintances to good friends, eventually growing to love each other dearly. After much discussion in light of recent events, we’ve made the joint decision to continue our relationship, with the full approval of both Her Majesty the Queen Mother, and Mr. Nikiforov’s parents. We respectfully ask that all inquiries and interview requests be submitted through the Royal Palace here in Akitsushima, the International Skating Organization, or the Russian Skating Federation.” He smiles again at Viktor, taking his hand gently before looking back at the screen. “Mr. Nikiforov and I wish to express our deepest and most sincere gratitude for the continued support of the peoples of Akitsushima and Russia, and the world at large, and are looking to the future with renewed hope.”

“Cut!” The head of Public Relations shouts. Yuuri beams at Viktor, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“Velichestvo are you—”

“It’s fine Vitya. Do the motions work for cues? Will you be able to figure it out well enough?”

Smiling, Viktor nods. “That, and they have someone off-camera cueing me.”

Flushing slightly, Yuuri nods. They smile, but an assistant comes forward and tells them to prepare to shoot the Japanese announcement.

Yuuri only sighs, resting his chin on his hands after Viktor gets up and moves to the side. He faintly returns Viktor’s smile before his attention is pulled elsewhere, and they both gear up to film again.

 

~*~

 

A few days before Viktor leaves for Europeans, he’s standing in front of a mirror in a well-tailored blue three-piece suit. The cut is exquisite, and he’s styled his hair like he typically does for performances. It’s the same version he presents at Galas and interviews, but instead of playing Russia’s National Hero, he’s visiting a school nearby with an apparently exemplary athletics program. Apparently, they have an ice rink available for their use (or on the grounds, Viktor’s not entirely sure which,) and have several students doing competitive figure skating at the National Junior’s level. It’s an excellent first appearance. Viktor knows athletics, knows what sort of drive these kids have, and can relate on a personal level.

He meets Yuuri at the rear of the palace, where there’s a waiting motorcade. Yuuri is wearing his traditional clothing, an almost monotone outfit of black and grey with a splash of purple from the undershirt. As he gets in the limo, he pulls off his crown, setting it in a shallow, padded box. Viktor follows him, crossing his legs as he settles back into the cool leather.

The school is a boarding school, roughly an hour’s drive from the palace, and Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand when his leg starts bouncing fifteen minutes into the drive. “Everything ok, Velichestvo?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. He’s not so unobservant that he thinks Viktor is completely fooled, but Viktor only squeezes his hand. Yuuri squeezes gratefully in return, a silent _thank you_ for not pressing the matter before he reaches into a compartment nearby and pulls out a bottle of water. “Do you want some?” he asks. “We have pop, too. Coke, Pepsi, Sprite…” he glances back in what seems to be a mini-fridge. “Dr. Pepper and ginger ale.”

“Water’s fine, if you will.”

Yuuri nods, holding a second bottle out. Much of the drive is spent quietly, with only the occasional remark about the scenery. The school is a ways outside of the capital city, and part of the drive is through spacious fields and sparse woodland before they approach a set of large wooden gates set into a wall. Instead of stopping at the guard house, the gates open and the entire motorcade is let through.

The driveway is long, winding its way to the front of a huge school, outside of which students are assembled in lines. The youngest students stand towards the front, the oldest (and tallest) at the rear, flanked on either side by the school’s staff. It seems everyone has turned out to greet Yuuri— to greet _them—_ en masse. A banner is hung from a frame behind the assembled student body, which Yuuri informs him is welcoming them to the school.

“I should have mentioned I got you an interpreter,” he says as they pull up. “They’ll meet you once we get out of the car and translate for you. You’ve worked with interpreters before?”

“Plenty,” Viktor says, straightening his tie. “I’ll be ok.”

Yuuri nods. They come to a stop next to a carpet that’s been laid out, and the driver rushes around the car to open the door. Yuuri puts the crown on his head, taking a deep breath before he steps out of the car and stands to the side, waiting for Viktor. Sliding across the seat, Viktor feels his stomach leap into his throat in a fit of nerves, before he pushes it aside. As he comes to stand next to Yuuri, he notices the small group of cameras to the side. The media, of course, has been invited to document His Royal Majesty’s first public appearance after the coronation itself, and they’re doing so with unparalleled enthusiasm.

Yuuri smiles at the assembled crowd, giving a wave before walking along the carpet to what looks like the headmaster and school officials. As Viktor follows him, he hears someone come up beside him.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the person says quietly, “I’ll be your interpreter for today. It’s a pleasure to be working with you. Would you prefer English or Russian for your interpretation?”

“I’ll be speaking English for His Majesty’s benefit, so that would likely be best.”

They give a small bow, falling just behind him as they approach the headmaster. There’s a series of shouts, and in unison the entire group of people bow in Yuuri’s direction. He gives a gracious nod in return, Viktor doing the same. The headmaster comes closer, bowing again, before he begins to speak. After a beat, the interpreter starts quietly translating, just loud enough for Viktor to hear.

“Your Royal Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov. It’s an honor to have you visit our humble institution,” the interpreter says, before switching to interpret Yuuri’s response.

“I thank you for your invitation. I have heard much about your school and the high quality of the instruction and care provided to your students. I am glad to finally have the opportunity to see for myself.”

They follow the headmaster to a small stage with a podium that has been erected seemingly only for their visit. There are a few short speeches, first by the headmaster and superintendent about the history of the school and the achievements of their students, and another prepared speech by Yuuri. Yuuri speaks clearly, addressing the students directly as he commends hard work and reminds them that they’re the pride of the nation as well as its future. Many of the kids look on in awe, but some of the older students are staring at Yuuri, almost as if they can’t believe their king is merely five or six years their senior. If Yuuri had been wearing a uniform, he could have easily been mistaken for one of the oldest group of pupils. As it is, once he finishes his address the students are dismissed, filing obediently back into the school building. The headmaster and superintendent fall quickly into stride with Yuuri and Viktor, walking them through the halls as they give the tour.

The media follows dutifully behind them, snapping pictures. When possible, some people run ahead to get pictures from the front, and microphones are held out in hopes of picking up what Yuuri (and the interpreter) is saying. The bodyguards keep them at a safe distance, roughly a meter and a half away unless the surroundings don’t allow for that. The headmaster talks excessively about the school, almost bragging if the look of vague irritation on Yuuri’s face is to be trusted. They discuss the architecture, the school’s recent good performance at several different national competitions, and Yuuri is just commenting on the up-to-date technology in use on campus when they come to a small stadium. In the field, different sports teams are assembled, all (for the most part) in uniform.

The athletics department has recently made a name for itself, and while the school prides itself on its recent academic achievements, having several of their students competing at the National and International levels have brought additional prestige in recent months. They’re taken down the line, each team offering individual greetings. Yuuri and Viktor shake every hand, smile at every introduction, and congratulate each team on their accomplishments. As they come to the end of the line they come face-to-face with an excited group of teenagers, dressed plainly in a school tracksuit, except for one wearing a juniors national team jacket.

When the boy’s name is called, he steps forward, electric eyes shining behind a shock of red hair. As he throws himself into a bow, he shouts something, causing a flash of confusion to cross Yuuri’s face before he hides it behind a smile. The interpreter speaks. “My name is Kenjirou Minami, I’m seventeen years old and I’ve looked up to you ever since your father gave me the scholarship so I could compete and I heard he made it because you skate and love skating and it would be an honor one day to see you skate, Your Majesty. If you want to. Or if you still can.” They move on to translate Yuuri’s response.

“I’m glad to hear the scholarship is allowing you to pursue your dream. I’ve kept up with my skating over the years, though I’m too out of practice now to perform for anyone.” Yuuri smiles, hand twitching towards the back of his head before he clasps both in front of himself. Minami does his best to keep his eyes on Yuuri, but they keep flitting towards Viktor’s. Now that he’s noticed, Viktor takes the opportunity to look at the rest of the small group of figure skaters, and admittedly few of them are paying attention to Yuuri at all. This trip is to improve Yuuri’s image in the public eye, as well as a display of solidarity between Viktor and the Palace, especially Yuuri himself. Moving forward, he smiles at his boyfriend.

“Your Majesty,” he says, and Yuuri looks at him with wide eyes, “I must say again, the skill with which you performed Stammi Vicino was breathtaking, to say the least. Even Phichit and Celestino were blown away.” The students’ eyes widen as the interpreter relays what he said, and once again they’re all on Yuuri.

“Your Majesty,” one says, “is it true? Can you skate Stammi Vicino?”

The tips of Yuuri’s ears turn pink as he resists the urge to stammer. “Y-Yes, it is true,” he says, switching back to Japanese, “but I have to scale the jumps down to triples.” The skaters look impressed, and Viktor feels pride welling in his chest.

“Was he talking about Phichit Chulanont?”

Nodding, Yuuri grins. “Yes! Mr. Chulanont and I were roommates for several years in Detroit.”

“They took care of Makkachin while I was competing!” Viktor says, grinning.

“Well,” Yuuri corrects after the interpreter translates for the assembled students, _“Mr. Chulanont_ took care of Makkachin. I just got to play with him and watch him for a few hours when Mr. Chulanont wasn’t home.” Viktor manages to keep the confusion off his face when he hears the lie, but in a well-practiced move he smiles and flips his hair.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I forgot. Thank you for reminding me! Mr. Chulanont took care of Makkachin, His Majesty was just living there as well.” It sounds forced, but the interpreter seems to smooth things over, and there’s no trace of suspicion on anyone’s face.

The skaters chatter amongst themselves for a moment before they, like the other teams, request a picture with Viktor and Yuuri. Yuuri, of course, agrees, posing happily next to Viktor with the skaters standing to either side. The media takes advantage of the photo opportunity as well, snapping as many pictures as they can get before Yuuri moves away. Led by the headmaster and superintendent, they head into the main school building again, this time to greet each class. They start with the oldest, all seniors more than ready to graduate. The class bows when they enter. Yuuri and Viktor are offered the gifts of a bouquet each, which is promptly taken by bodyguards after the appropriate photos have been taken. After Yuuri greets the teacher and says a short statement of encouragement, the entire class bows once more, and they head to the next. This same cycle is repeated again and again for every class in the school. Some classes offer gifts of art, others give boxes of cookies and foodstuffs. One offers a pair of traditional baskets, each woven by a group of people with clearly different levels of basic skill. As usual, Yuuri thanks them, says a few words, and the class bows as they leave.

By the time they get back to the car, Viktor is exhausted. His cheeks ache from smiling, his mind flashes through many of the interactions in an attempt to take advantage of the continuing adrenaline rush in the new calm. They climb into the limo they’d come in, and Viktor’s grateful when he sees a pair of ceramic travel mugs in the cupholder, steaming with newly-brewed coffee. Yuuri takes a sip and sighs contentedly. Viktor tries his as well. It’s a normal latte, sweetened just enough to take the edge off the espresso, and it soothes his nerves as he drinks. When they’re on the road, he looks over at Yuuri. The crown has been removed from his head and set on the seat across from them in the padded box and he’s leaning back, resting his head against the black leather of the seats.

They relax as the motorcade hits the highway, Yuuri shifting close enough to Viktor for their thighs to touch.

“That was interesting,” Viktor says quietly.

“Did they mention a scholarship?” he asks. “Like during the briefing. I don’t like not knowing what Minami-san was talking about.”

“I don’t remember them saying anything, no,” Viktor replies. Yuuri makes a disgruntled noise.

“I'll have to ask about that.” He settles against Viktor’s side.

“I wish we had the snacks they gave us,” Viktor says as his stomach threatens a growl.

“We won’t be eating them,” Yuuri responds. “Too many risks.” His voice is flat, tired, heavy with something Viktor can’t quite name.

“You said you couldn't wait to try them.” It’s not an accusation but an observation, and Yuuri bites his lip before closing his eyes.

“Vitya, the kindness of the gesture is sweet. I wasn't going to crush that by telling them they're just going to be thrown away.” Yuuri lets out a sigh, a weight settling over them. “Vitya, that attempt when I was a kid… Someone gave me a little box of cookies at an appearance very much like this one. I had them on me, I offered one to my bodyguard because I had taken it out before I remembered I wasn't supposed to eat in my good clothes. It had just looked… so good, just like my favorites from the palace, and I… Anyway, my bodyguard ate it. Died convulsing on the floor a few minutes later. I saw everything. I was still holding the box.”

“That's awful,” Viktor whispers. “That's horrible, Lyubov.”

“I was seven years old, it was a clear attempt on _my_ life, and there was no way to figure out who’d given them to me in the crowd of people I'd met.” The limousine provides a good amount of privacy, and Viktor takes advantage of that by pulling Yuuri close to him. Viktor’s seen some shit in his life, car accidents and plenty of graphic injuries, but he’s never watched someone die, or he hadn’t before Yuuri’s father. To have seen it, helpless to do anything as a child and knowing that was supposed to be _you_ must be the worst sort of burden.

“I'm so sorry, Yuuri,” he says.

Yuuri shrugs nonchalantly, but it doesn't take long for him to curl into Viktor’s embrace. “After that, I was confined to the Palace, or escorted by a group of guards in public and then… I left. Hana and I left in the middle of the night, and stayed gone.” Viktor doesn't bother asking what happened next. He's heard enough to hazard a guess as to what Yuuri’s life entailed over the years, and Yuuri’s never particularly enjoyed talking about it. Instead of asking questions, he rubs Yuuri’s arm.

“Lyubov,” Viktor says, “I can't imagine ho—”

“I think a topic change would be prudent,” Yuuri bites out.

Stunned into silence, Viktor goes still. “Of course, _Your Majesty,”_ he replies smoothly, and there’s an unpleasant edge to his words. Yuuri stiffens beside him, pulling away slightly so he can make eye contact.

“You didn’t have to say it like _that,”_ he says, and deep in Yuuri’s voice Viktor can hear a child’s fear, the memory of something at times too visceral to handle. He closes his eyes, letting out a long breath. Kissing the top of Yuuri’s head, Viktor pulls him closer, and Yuuri follows easily in unspoken, mutual apology. They spend the rest of the ride in silence together, but the quiet eases from tense, heavy and almost overbearing to soft, gentle. Companionable, as they take time to sort through themselves.

 

When they arrive they’re exhausted but okay, and Yuuri holds his hand as they make their way back to his rooms. They change into something more casual for dinner, and Yuuri’s halfway into a pair of jeans when Viktor clears his throat.

“Aren’t we meeting your family in the dining room?”

Looking down, Yuuri sighs. “Is it too much to be able to wear jeans at home on a regular basis?” he grumbles as he switches his clothes out. “I’m the king. I ought to do something about this.”

“Lyubov?”

“Yeah?” Yuuri asks as he pulls on his sweater.

“Telling everyone Phichit watched Makka, was that so they didn’t think you’d…”

“Served you in some capacity? Yeah. The palace told me to say that, but it’s… we’re not going to be able to hide the circumstances of me hiding forever, already people are coming forward talking about how they knew me and in what way. People know I worked at a café by now. I don’t _mind_ people knowing, I’m not ashamed.” Yuuri stares at the assembled outfit, before shoving it haphazardly back on the hangers. He pulls on a nice pair of jeans, a button-up, and a plain blue v-neck sweater. Patterned socks follow, and Yuuri places a pair of leather shoes in the entryway.

“You’re sure they’ll be ok with this, Lyubov?”

Yuuri looks back, a complicated expression on his face. “I don’t really care at the moment,” he says. “They’ll be ok with it by virtue of the fact that they can’t _not be.”_

“Is that your normal approach to such things?” Does Yuuri typically resort to using his title to get what he wants? It doesn’t seem like him, doesn’t seem like something he would do, but Viktor can’t help but wonder, with the way Yuuri talks sometimes. Self-assured, able to guarantee certain outcomes by virtue of who he is and the power he wields.

Curiously, Yuuri just stares at him. “Only things that are important in small ways. Do I do this with public policy and legislation? No, absolutely not. Do I do this when the Palace is being ridiculous about my clothing options? Apparently, yes.” He checks his hair in a mirror, tucking a few stray bits back into place. The undercut is starting to grow out some, laying against Yuuri’s head instead of sticking straight out like it did when they’d met. “I learned not to wield my title unnecessarily,” he says, voice soft as he turns around. “I also learned the advantages of wielding it skillfully. There’s an authority, a privilege that comes with being who I am, and it’s up to me to use that to benefit my people. This includes future generations of royals. Maybe one day in the future the palace will feel more like a home to those who live here.”

“It doesn’t?”

“It… it does,” Yuuri says, “and it doesn’t. I was born here. I grew up here, initially. It was all I knew when I was a child, so it _is_ home. But I lived in a normal house with my bodyguard for years. Much of the time, at least before my mid-teens, was spent being able to just… do what I like. Wear what I like. My choices were limited, yes, but not as much in the day-to-day. Here, though, there are rules about what I can and can’t wear when, what needs to be worn when I’m not in my rooms. This isn’t even getting into how I have to act, how I have to _talk_ to people, my own family included.”

He grabs a small box out of his closet, bringing it out and exposing a relatively simple golden crown inlaid with white opals. Putting it on his head and making adjustments in front of the mirror, he continues. “I don’t mind the palace wanting me well-dressed. I get it. I’m the monarch and as such, representative of my country and people. But I’d like to be comfortable every once in a while and after some time, typical court clothes feel more like a uniform than anything else.”

Heading to the entryway, they put on and lace up their shoes, before Yuuri takes a deep breath. Opening the door, he glances both ways down the corridor and steps out, his head held high. Walking next to him, Viktor doesn’t miss the stares of the few attendants and footmen they pass, the members of the Guard posted along the route watching them unabashedly. Entering the dining room, Yuuri toes off his shoes as Mari and Hiroko stand.

“Is that necessary?” he asks as he kneels at the table. They follow suit, Viktor sitting to Yuuri’s left like he normally does.

“Is what necessary, Yuuri?” Mari asks.

“The standing and whatnot. I can understand formal situations, but really? In the family dining room? You’re already calling me by name.” Irritable, Yuuri pours himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table.

Hiroko and Mari look at each other, before Hiroko looks back at her son. “Yuuri-kun, it’s only proper,” she says. Yuuri huffs, and the time before their meal is brought out is spent in a tense silence.

Things loosen up as they eat, Mari and Hiroko asking Viktor about the visit they’d done, how he’d felt greeting the students and during the tour. He smiles, tells them of the pride in the athletes, the huge grins with which they’d talked about their achievements with their king. Yuuri is quiet, fiddling with his phone, but towards the end of the meal he lights up when he gets an incoming text message. “Vitya. Phichit’s coming to visit, since he can now, and I wanted to know if you’d like him to bring Makkachin?”

Viktor stops mid-story. “Bring him here? To the palace?”

“Where else? I’m not going to fly Makka to Akitsushima just to put him in a kennel.” Yuuri smiles over his food, golden crown slightly off-kilter.

“You all would be ok with that?”

“We’re no strangers to having a dog around, Viktor,” Yuuri says gently.

“Right, sorry. I’d want to make travel arrangements for Makkachin, I don’t trust many airlines with my dog.” He’s heard too many nightmare horror stories about lost or injured animals, and he absolutely refuses to risk it. He’ll take whatever flights are available if it’s just himself, but when it comes to Makka, he’s done his research and only the best airlines have his seal of approval.

“The airline isn’t an issue,” Yuuri says, waving him off. “I have allowed use of our private jet. Makkachin will ride in the cabin, if that’s okay with you.”

Mari leans in. “He means Phichit wheedled a trip in the jet out of him. He’s been on his case for years.”

Yuuri blushes. “Regardless, Makka’ll be safe with Phichit. He’ll have his bed and food and water for the flight, and he’ll be able to move around freely.”

Viktor considers this, then nods his assent. “That sounds good; I’d like that.”

Grinning, Yuuri pecks him on the nose. “I’ll let him know you’re all for it,” he says happily. “They’ll be arriving in a week or so, and we’ll pick them up at the private hangar.”

Viktor beams. He’s missed Makkachin. Phichit’s been doing his best to send updates, but it doesn’t compare to having real fur to run his hands through. A week seems like far too long, but he’ll have the distraction of competition to keep his mind off the wait.

 

~*~

 

Viktor knew the announcement of their courtship would cause waves, but he didn’t expect to be immediately mobbed upon his arrival in the Czech Republic for the European Championships. Once he entered the baggage claim, it was all he could do to not be pushed back through the doors.

“Mr. Nikiforov!! Can you comment on your relationship with the King of Sachima?”

“What does this mean for your career?!”

Viktor’s trapped against the wall, microphones shoved in his face from all directions.

“Did you know he was royalty, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“Are you expected to marry?”

“Is this the young man from Detroit?”

The questions are coming loud and fast, in every language he’s given interviews in and some he hasn’t. Lights flash in his face, blinding him even behind his sunglasses. Reporters start shifting to the side, parting around someone in the center, and Viktor’s relieved to see Yakov’s fedora cutting through the crowd. He yells at them, first in Russian and then English, dragging Viktor bodily through the throng of people. Instead of going to the baggage area, Yakov steers him directly outside.

“Georgi is getting your bags.”

Viktor nods as he’s pushed towards a waiting car. Airport security has moved to create a narrow aisle for Viktor to walk through, clearing the press from his immediate surroundings. He and Yakov get into the car together, closing and locking the doors until Georgi comes out. Once the luggage is stowed and Georgi in the car, the taxi pulls out of the airport. Yakov turns around in the front seat. “Is this what we can expect for the rest of the competition?”

Shrugging, Viktor looks out the window. “I don’t know, Yakov. This isn’t something I’m used to.” The school visit in Sachima had been full of press, yes, but they’d been calm, orderly. They’d followed the palace’s direction as far as how close they could get and what they could film (and, later, what they could release.) It wasn’t anything like this, not even travelling to and from.

Yakov huffs. “I knew there was something off about Katsuki.”

Sighing, Viktor watches Ostrava out the window. Yuuri’d warned him about a higher level of scrutiny, but this is ridiculous. He’s never been mobbed to the point of not being able to make his way to wherever he was going. Pulling up to the hotel, they’re surrounded by another mob of reporters, the hotel staff desperately trying to push them away from the car. Finally, a path is cleared, and Viktor is shuttled through rapidly.

 

In the safety of the hotel suite, he collapses onto the bed. Georgi arrives a few minutes later with his bags, Mila shortly thereafter with Yuri in tow. Lilia is, apparently, staying in a different room near Yakov’s. They’re not in the room for long, when an ISO official comes by with a man in a suit.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the official says as she, the man, and Viktor take their places at the table, “my name is Janette Montgomery, I represent the ISO. I have to say, this is a highly unprecedented situation. We’d anticipated increased media presence as a result of the recent announcement concerning yourself and the King of Sachima, however, the sheer volume was unforeseen.”

Viktor nods.

“Unfortunately, this means you’ll be required to have an escort at all times when you’re in the competition venue, as well as travelling to and from. I regret to inform you that we’ll have to ask you to restrict your movements to the hotel and the arena, as we’re unable to spare the manpower for you to go sightseeing.”

“I understand,” Viktor says.

“We have consulted with your coach, and will have someone here to escort you to and from the arena at the scheduled times. You will be met at your door by your escorts, taken directly to a waiting car, and then to a back entrance of the venue. Your return will be in the same manner. Should you have need of anything, you will inform your escorts, who will take appropriate measures to remedy the situation.”

The man leans forward. “Mr. Nikiforov, my name is Tatsuki Nakayama, I work at the Sachiman Consulate here in the Czech Republic. We must ask, by order of the Royal Palace, that when you are being interviewed by the press you decline to comment on your relationship with His Majesty the King outside of what has already been released. In essence, you may confirm the courtship, but we ask that you don’t elaborate on the courtship itself, His Majesty’s time abroad, the Royal Family, or discuss politics in any form. Your interview responses must stay on-topic and relevant to figure skating and the competition itself.” Viktor nods. “In addition, when asked about competitors, your responses regarding Mr. Chulanont of Thailand are to remain related to figure skating and competitions. Nothing is to be said about his relationship with King Yuuri.”

“Understood.”

“As a de facto representative now of Sachima and the Royal Family, Mr. Nikiforov, I’m compelled to remind you that your behavior here reflects not only on yourself, but His Royal Majesty, the Royal Family, and the country at large, as well as on your home country of Russia, the Russian Skating Federation, and the International Skating Organization.”

Yakov scoffs in the corner, no doubt thinking of Viktor’s typical response to being told to behave. He looks surprised when he sees Viktor merely nod his head.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he says with a smile.

The officials nod, standing up. Montgomery holds out her hand. “We at the ISU appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Nikiforov. You can expect the escort to be at your door promptly at the scheduled times.”

Shaking her hand, Viktor nods. He shakes the man’s hand as well when it’s offered, and they take their leave as abruptly as they’d come.

“You're being surprisingly compliant, Vitya,” Yakov says.

Viktor just shrugs.

“He loves him,” Georgi says matter-of-factly. Viktor just looks at him. He hadn’t expected Georgi to come to his defense at all, hadn’t expected him to understand, but the look on Georgi’s face tells him he should have. Soon enough, Viktor is left alone. Pulling out his phone, he sends Yuuri a text saying he’s made it safely, omitting the mob at the airport.

 

~*~

 

Viktor can’t shake the antsy feeling, crawling under his skin. The next morning finds him escorted to a car and driven the mere blocks from the hotel to the arena, a distance he’d normally be more than happy to walk. He’s shuttled through another wall of press, sunglasses firmly over his eyes and hat pulled low on his face. He's not allowed to stop for questions or autographs like he normally would, instead handed his badge just inside the door as he's taken to the warm-up area.

When he’s safely away from the crowds he’s allowed to breathe, but it’s not long before Chris pulls him aside.

“Vitya, how are you doing?” he asks, none of his usual humor in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Viktor says, lapsing into French. “I’m doing fine.”

“There’s a rumor you have armed guards?”

Raising an eyebrow, Viktor glances around. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Is it true?”

“No,” he replies. “I have an escort to keep me from getting mobbed by the press, but as far as I know they’re just security from the event.”

Chris glances over at the security guards, standing with their hands clasped in front of them near the door. “I’m surprised you don’t have bodyguards,” he says, pulling one arm across his chest in a stretch.

“I don’t need _bodyguards,”_ Viktor says, “I just need to be able to make it to where I need to be.”

He spreads his legs, folding himself forward to rest his arms on the ground. The silence quickly becomes awkward, but Viktor continues to warm up. He’s doing the splits against the wall the next time Chris says anything.

“So do you live at the palace now?”

“I’ve been staying there,” Viktor responds. “I’ll likely keep staying there, if only part-time.”

“What’s it like?” There’s none of the usual suave candor in Chris’s voice, instead just genuine curiosity.

“It’s massive, and incredibly opulent,” Viktor says. He keeps things cheerful as he pulls his legs in front of himself. “Having full-time staff is strange, and I had to download an app so I didn’t get lost, but I’m adapting! I just can’t wait until I can see Makkachin again.”

“Any reason you haven’t been able to?” The look Viktor’s getting says Chris isn’t entirely fooled by the forced cheer.

“We needed to figure out Phichit’s schedule, first,” Viktor replies.

“Is that the only reason?”

Viktor looks up. “If you’re implying he’s keeping me from my dog, he’s not. He loves Makka almost as much as I do. Phichit’s bringing him out next week.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Chris backs up a step. “No need to get defensive, Vitya, I was just asking.”

Viktor jumps to his feet, alternating rolling his ankles as he stands. There’s every need to get defensive, even the Palace itself isn’t entirely on board with their relationship, and he just wants to tell Chris to shove off but in the interest of not alienating _every_ person he calls a friend, he just sighs.

“It’s fine. I’m just tired. It’s a lot to get used to.” A hint of the truth should be enough to sate his curiosity. Chris nods, sighs, and looks down the hallway.

Before long, they’re heading to the ice to warm up, Viktor’s escorts flanking him to either side. He doesn’t miss the ways peoples’ eyes follow him, flicking between him and the security detail. There are whispers behind hands, furtive glances as people no doubt talk about Viktor’s now-public relationship. If the impression that he’s getting is correct, his secret relationship has been the topic of conversation in the skating world for longer than he’d realized.

There’s more whispering during warmups, all eyes on him as he dances across the ice. Getting into performance mode is thankfully easy, Viktor able to fall into it without much trouble after decades of practice. The short program is uneventful, the audience enthusiastic in their applause for the other skaters. Viktor takes the ice to a strange combination of silence from a large part of the crowd and raucous cheering from the rest. Regardless, he centers himself as he skates his customary laps, waving with a flourish before he takes his starting position.

The short program leaves him in first, the press interviewing him while reading off a short list of allowed questions under the watchful eye of the ISO staff. He answers with his trademark smile, ever-conscious of the intimidating men flanking him. Their presence sends the occasional tickle up the back of his neck, but it’s easy enough to ignore while he finishes with publicity. He’s taken directly to the waiting car, driven to the hotel with little comment. Georgi has promised to bring food by once he’s done, and so all Viktor can do when he gets to his room is wait. He showers, pulling on pajamas before grabbing his phone out of his bag. It shouldn’t be a surprise when he sees the series of texts from Yuuri, but it is, and he smiles as he opens them.

 

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   !!! top form vitya!**  
**< <<   the spin**  
**< <<   so elgenant.**  
**< <<   your skates look good with the costume have i told you that**  
**< <<   also. your jumps look like flying**  
**< <<   i miss yuouo bitya**  
**< <<   my mom is making them rwcord you. for watcning**

 

Smiling, Viktor texts back eagerly.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Are you tired, Любовь?**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   middle of the night rn and i had meetings all day**  
**< <<   but i hadtwo watch you**  
**< <<   will you call wneh you have time?**

 

Without hesitation, Viktor pulls up a video call, waiting for it to connect. Yuuri answers, and it’s clear he’s tucked into bed. He waves, barely visible in the light of the phone.

“Hi,” he whispers as he yawns.

“Hi, Lyubov. You watched?”

“Of course I did,” Yuuri replies. “When do I not?” The subsequent smile warms Viktor’s heart. This competition is already more exhausting, more stressful than any other in recent memory and it weighs on him, but talking to Yuuri is helping.

“How has your day been?” It’s an attempt to take his mind off the situation, to stop him from wondering if the press is camped out in the lobby in hopes he’ll be leaving before they pack in for the night. It’s been a long time since he’s had to worry this way about the press.

As sleepy as he is, Yuuri doesn’t pick up on the sudden shift, instead rolling his eyes as he yawns again. “Long. So many people. So much paperwork. Not an optimal career choice if you don’t like headaches.” He snuggles further into his blankets. Clearly, it’s not going to be much longer until Yuuri’s asleep, and Viktor subtly takes a screenshot, the tuft of Yuuri’s hair on the pillow too cute to ignore. It’s quiet after that, and Yuuri’s snoring softly when there’s a knock on the door.

Ending the call, Viktor stands, stretching briefly before walking over and pulling on the handle. Georgi smiles on the other side, a plastic bag in each hand.

“Beef roast,” he says as he steps into the room. “Plenty of veggies. Yakov won’t have a reason to get on your case.” The familiarity of Russian is soothing, easing Viktor’s nerves just the slightest bit as he closes the door.

Two bottles of beer are set in front of him as he’s clearing space at the small table in the room. When he looks up, Georgi merely pulls out a bottle opener and makes short work of them.

“How are you, Vitya?” Georgi asks when the food’s been set out.

“Everything’s going well,” he replies, “Yuuri’s being great about everything, and his family is very nice.” They sit down in unison, taking their places at either edge of one corner of the table.

“How are _you,_ though?” Sincere, Georgi gives him a look while he cuts his beef, spearing a piece of it and potato on his fork. Viktor is so used to most peoples lines of questioning immediately veering towards the royal he’s dating rather than staying on the topic of him, and he’s more taken aback than he’d expected.

“I’m alright, Gosha,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. It’s a cheap brand, one they used to buy when they smuggled alcohol into the dorms as teenagers. Neither of them particularly like it, and both can easily afford better, but the nostalgia is enough to make up for the taste. It seems so long ago that their interactions were easy, and Viktor misses it. It’s another thing skating has taken from him, that ability to be close to his peers without the shadow of success weighing on them.

He wonders if this is how Yuuri feels, catapulted as it were from being just another college student to near-untouchable, the King of an entire country.

He wonders if Yuuri had ever really had peers to lose.

“It’s strange,” he finds himself saying. “Everything about it is strange. It’s easier than I thought it would be, but harder. There are times I can’t even recognize Yuuri and times when I wonder how I ever questioned myself, how I ever lost sight of him. Seeing him in this life is… _Everything_ is just… strange.” He pushes some of the food around in the cardboard container. “I can’t even call him by name, Gosha, not in public. He has staff, we did a school appearance, and he’s just… the way he acts, the way he carries himself, this whole life is so different from anything I’d ever expected.” He shoves beef into his mouth, chewing unenthusiastically.

“How’s he adapting?”

“That’s the thing,” Viktor says around a hefty gulp of beer, “he’s not… there’s not much adapting he seems to have to do? At the airport, even, he just… it was like that moment you finally click into the zone at a performance, he just slid into acting like royalty like it was no trouble at all, like it’s just how he _was_ and I’d never really seen it before. I know why, now, he was trained growing up but… it was almost uncomfortable. It still is sometimes.”

“Almost?” Georgi’s silently making his way through his meal around the occasional question. This has always been his method of comfort, letting people talk things out, asking about things they seem to want to discuss. It doesn’t always work, especially not with people Georgi doesn’t know well, but he and Viktor have been skating together for over a decade. He’s well-versed in Viktor’s mannerisms, how he thinks, even if they haven’t actually talked recently. He knows full well Viktor’s uncomfortable.

Half a bottle of beer later, Viktor answers. “It was. It _was_ uncomfortable. I’d never seen it, Georgi. I had a whole five minutes to prepare and that was spent just processing the fact that he was a _prince_ and his _father_ was dying. There was no time between just… I got off the plane with my anxious boyfriend, figured it out, and by the time we left the airport he was acting royal and had a whole group of people catering to him and guarding him and calling him ‘Your Highness’ and we were picked up by the motorcade and taken straight to the Palace. I thought we were going to a hotel when we landed.”

Georgi nods and they eat in silence for a while. There’s still the undercurrent of awkwardness that accompanies hanging out with a friend who’s grown distant, but slowly it fades into the background. Even so, it beats eating alone in his hotel room, and Georgi, despite the distance, despite their clashing personalities, is still a solid source of vague comfort. Viktor lets himself settle into it.

“Was he upset you figured it out?”

“No,” Viktor says without thinking. Georgi raises his eyebrows, but does nothing else. “He was relieved, actually. The palace wanted to keep me in the dark until the last possible second.”

“Why?” Georgi asks.

“Why wasn’t he upset or why did they want me to not know?”

“Both, I guess.” Georgi pulls another couple of beers out, opening them before putting one in front of Viktor.

“He wanted to tell me. For months. So I’d know before he was back in public. As far as the palace goes, neither of us have any idea. It’s suspicious, they’re not really fans of Yuuri’s choice of partner.” Sipping his beer, Viktor leans back in his chair.

“Maybe they’re trying to drive you apart.”

Viktor looks up. “What brings you to that conclusion?” he asks. Georgi’s the romantic type, always delighting in stories with drama and intrigue and conspiracies, and despite the somewhat negative effect it’s had on his love life (or ability to have one, as it were,) Viktor’s never begrudged his passion. He has, though, started to take Georgi’s observations about love and romance with a hefty grain of salt.

“If they didn’t want him to be with you, getting you mad enough at Katsuki to break it off would be the easiest course of action.” It makes a distinctly unnerving amount of sense. Perhaps it’s something to bring up with Yuuri in the future.

Silently, they drink together until Yakov knocks on the door and yells for them to get their asses into bed. No time is wasted on farewells, not when they’ll be seeing each other bright and early for practice the next day, and Georgi looks at him contemplatively as he’s halfway out the door.

“Vitya,” he says, and Viktor looks up at him.

“What, Gosha?”

“Take care of yourself,” he says, “whatever that may look like.”

Viktor nods, and Georgi takes his leave.

 

~*~

 

The next day, Viktor wakes bright and early, meeting the escorts outside of his door no earlier than the appointed time. Practice goes as smoothly as possible, though Viktor keeps getting glares from the Italian for some reason. Coming off the ice, he absently puts his hard guards on as his eyes scan the rink. His escorts nowhere to be found, he takes the long route back to the locker room. They can find him if they need him, and he’s scheduled to be taken back to the hotel in twenty minutes anyway.

A wrong turn drops him directly into a mixed crowd of people, fans and the media gasping in unison before running after him. He does his best to bolt, sprinting back down the hall and taking a couple of random turns to try to throw them off. Almost to the athlete area where security can interfere, he tries to take a shortcut but trips into a dead end and finds himself pushed into a corner.

The crowd surges around him, cellphones in the air as they shout. Some of it is the standard adoration, but most of it is questions, demands for his time, invasive comments and inquiries about him and Yuuri. Even the darkest pair of sunglasses he owns are useless against the camera flashes six inches from his face, and microphones and voice recorders creep ever closer. It’s pure chaos the likes of which he’s never dealt with before.

Raising his hands does nothing, neither does shouting his refusals to comment. He turns his back to the crowd, pulling out his cell phone. He’s just fired off a quick request for help to the group text he has with Yakov and his escorts when he feels a painful grip on his bicep. The hand pulls, and he’s yanked around, turned to face forward as cameras are pushed into his face. Voices blur into a roar as he tries to keep people off him, pushing desperately against the crowd even as the hand remains painfully firm on his upper arm. He’s barely managed to shake the person off when he hears angry yelling.

The crowd parts reluctantly as a group of security guards push through, shouting people down and forcibly moving them out of the way when necessary. Viktor runs his fingers repeatedly through his hair as the guards surround him, moving as a unit with him until they reach the nearly-empty parking garage reserved for staff. Georgi makes his way over with Yakov soon after, carrying both his own and Viktor’s gear bags.

Viktor takes his with whispered thanks, crawling into the truck. Georgi gets in next to him, with Yakov taking the front. The security detail pulls up behind them in a van, and they leave for the hotel.

“Vitya,” Georgi says softly, “are you okay?”

“I will be,” he replies. “I just wasn’t expecting to be mobbed quite like that, it was quite the experience!” He does his best to keep his tone upbeat, but Yakov only responds with one of his _looks._ Georgi’s raised eyebrow says he’s not fooled either, and Viktor drops the act for a bit. Between the competition itself and the other issues that’ve come with it, he doesn’t have the energy to put on a mask anymore.

They’ve barely reached the hotel when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Likely social media, possibly Yuuri, but he doesn’t have time to check as the car comes to a stop. He lets himself be taken to his room, lets Yakov choose a restaurant for dinner that night. Viktor declines an invitation to go with them, citing his apparent house arrest. It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he asks them to bring food back. He’s a recluse much of the time, sure, but he prefers it to be by choice.

A shower washes away much of the tension in his shoulders, easing into his sore muscles and rinsing the sweat from his skin as he lets the water flow over him. It’s hot, maybe _too_ hot, but it makes him feel clean, makes him forget the stinging bruise left on his arm in a stranger’s fit of possessiveness. It keeps the feeling of violation at a manageable level. It’s not what’s good for him he knows, but it’s what he needs. Absently walking into the bedroom as he dries his hair, he checks his phone, seeing additional notifications and texts from Yuuri.

 

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   vityusha are you ok?**  
**< <<   i saw the footage, i saw them grab you, are you alright?**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’m fine, Любовь.**  
**> >>   It happens sometimes.**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   it shouldn’t.**

 

Running his fingers through his hair, Viktor sighs.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   I’m ok, I promise. It wasn’t that bad!**  
**> >>   Security got there right away!**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   at least they’re doing their jobs.**  
**< <<   i should have sent someone with you.**  
**< <<   how do you feel about the free?**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Good. Practice went well today, before I got chased.**  
**> >>   Yakov is getting me lunch right now!**  
**> >>   Then we’re having some sort of meeting this evening over dinner about the rest of the competition.**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   good luck.**  
**< <<   i’ll be here for a bit longer, but i’ll need to sleep soon**  
**< <<   early day tomorrow**  
**< <<   i’m planning to get a case together to change the laws of succession**  
**< <<   so inheritance is by birth order, rather than gender.**  
**< <<   honestly, this is bull.**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Would Mari become queen, then? Would you go back to being a prince?**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i’d be crown prince, but i doubt they’d agree to something retroactive tbh**  
**< <<   for now i’m going for her being next in line of succession**

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Sounds good!**

 

After a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door. Viktor sighs, looking over, but just as he goes to stand he hears the sound of a keycard in the lock. Yakov. Sure enough, his coach walks in a second later, a plastic bag in hand. He doesn’t wait for Viktor to walk over before settling himself at the table, the food pushed unceremoniously towards the empty chair. Taking a seat, Viktor pulls open the bag, removing the containers inside. The smaller two seem to contain vegetables, the larger has fish and rice, and Viktor digs into that one first.

Yakov mostly discusses the schedule for the next two days. Viktor will be taken, as usual, to the venue. This time, his escorts have been instructed to stay nearby, very clearly, and he’s not to move without them. It seems extreme, but as last night’s crowd roars through his mind he resigns himself to the apparent necessity of the guards. If it weren’t for them, this competition would be more of a disaster than it already is.

After the free will be the press conference held with the medalists. It’s assumed Viktor’s going to medal, and a long-forgotten pang jolts through his stomach. Of course he’s going to medal. He’s _Viktor Nikiforov,_ anything else would be unheard of. Yakov barrels on, unheeding of the grimace that flickers across Viktor’s face. The next day he’ll have practice in the morning, the Exhibition skate in the evening, the banquet afterward. He’s not looking forward to the banquet but Yakov assures him the press presence there will be limited and tightly controlled.

It doesn’t change the fact that something twists deep in his gut when he thinks of facing them, unable to help the rapidfire glimpses he gets of the crowd, their weight pushing against him and the hand that pulled, an attempt to take Viktor for itself. He can’t drown out the rush of voices in his ears, phantom camera flashes make him blink his eyes in desperate hope that it’ll just _stop._ Instead, he smiles at Yakov.

“Of course, when do I not go?” he says. “I’ll even stay later than usual, if that’s what you want!”

A bushy eyebrow rises towards what’s left of Yakov’s hairline, but he says nothing.

 

~*~

 

That statement is at the very top of Viktor’s list of regrets the next morning, moreseo after Yakov’s promise to hold him to it, but he pulls himself out of bed to take a quick shower. It’s not that he doesn’t like being social. It’s that he gets the distinct feeling the attention he’ll be getting will have little to do with his skating and everything to do with Yuuri. As much as he loves his boyfriend, it’s not Yuuri that’s competing. This has nothing to do with his love life, and it’s none of their business besides. When he opens his door to the escorts, instead of seeing the faces he’s come to be used to over the last few days, there’s a new pair. They murmer their introductions, explain they’ve been sent to replace the pair who’d wandered off (apparently in search of something to drink, they say.)

Viktor makes it safely to the competitor’s area and it’s clear the new security guards are doing a better job than the last, if even his competitors are steering clear. Warming up is no less awkward, but the audience helps with their applause. He does a quick step sequence across the ice, smiling as he lets his bangs fall gently into his face. The crowd cheers, and for an instant Viktor feels _alive._

When it comes time to actually skate Stammi Vicino, he’s almost feeling like his old self.  He takes a few more laps than usual, allowing himself to soak in the cheer, to see the waving banners printed with his name. He loves the ice dearly but the thrill of an adoring audience can be just as revitalizing. As the music starts, all eyes are on him and he takes this opportunity to remind them that he is more than just someone dating a king, he has a name in and of his own right.

He’s _Viktor Nikiforov,_ and he isn’t called a Living Legend for no reason.

He stands that night at the top of the podium, flashing his best press grin, he holds the bouquet he was given high into the air with a flourish. There’s still more press than usual, and he can hear the din of an eager public, but he holds his expression, one of triumph, of self-assured belief that he will be in the same position as Worlds, because that's what Viktor Nikiforov _does._

 

The post-competition press conference begins in typical fashion, Chris and Georgi sit to either side of him and answer the questions directed their way, but an undercurrent of anticipation vibrates through the room.  Questions for Chris and Georgi are rushed, clipped, and it’s easy to tell that answers from them are of little import to the vultures in the room. The press eyes Viktor hungrily, growing more ravenous with every second, and once questioning is directed his way, there’s an almost eerie beat of silence before a flurry of activity.

“Mr. Nikiforov, what are your plans for next season?” It's an innocuous question and common enough, so Viktor ventures a response.

“I'll refrain from commenting about future seasons,” Viktor says into the microphone, “as right now I’m trying to focus on keeping my skills sharp for Worlds.”

“Is His Royal Majesty making you retire?”

Force him to retire? Yuuri would _never_ do that! Viktor swallows his disgust as he moves towards a diplomatic response. “What decisions I make about my career will be my own.”

“Has it been tough staying in Sachima without your dog?” A man asks loudly. Makka’s a safe topic, and he smiles before leaning into the microphone.

“I _do_ miss Makkachin, and we’ve discu— “

“Is the His Majesty making you give up Makkachin?”

“What?! No —” Viktor starts, before he’s interrupted again.

“We’ve heard you’ve been forced to drop sponsorships because they were too, quote, ‘racy’ for the palace’s liking, can you comment further?”

“I’m unable to comment on the Palace and the King at this time.” He says with a strained smile, hoping it’ll get them to back off. The flashes get brighter, the voices louder. The panic starts to rise.

“Did the king lie to you when he was in hiding?”

_He lied to everyone, that was the entire point._ “I'm unable to elaborate on His Majesty’s time in hiding, my apologies.” They aren't even _trying_ to pretend it's about the skating anymore, and he hears Yuuri’s voice in his head. _“It’s no longer about what you do. It’s about who you are.”_ Viktor’s career will likely last one, maybe two more years if he doesn’t just retire after Worlds. A relationship with Yuuri would last a lifetime, and as of their announcement, no matter what happens in the future, they’re inexorably linked.

Another reporter chimes in “Is he offering you money or a title to stay with him, Mr. Nikiforov? If my understanding is correct, you’d be King-Consort after you got married, is that part of the appeal?”

Offering a title or money? Who do they think Yuuri _is?_ Who do they think _he_ is for that matter? “I can only confirm that we’re together romantically, by _mutual_ choice,” he says, anger bleeding into his voice. The line of security guards in front of the stage brace themselves as tension spikes.

“Is there a reason your background check took longer than Mr. Chulanont’s?” A woman asks, and how does she even _know_ that?

“Again, I’m unable to comment on the—”

“Is there something you’re hiding, Mr. Nikiforov? Have you been blackmailing His Royal Majesty?”

“Is this relationship a cover-up of some sort?”

“What?! No!” Viktor leans forward angrily and the room goes still. They’re trying to get a rise out of him, trying to get him to give something away, and it’s working. He swallows as Chris and Georgi look on, stunned. “Once again, I won’t comment on my relationship with His Royal Majesty, on the Palace, or anything that isn’t directly related to figure skating and _this competition_ in particular.”

“How do you view Mr. Chulanont as a competitor in light of the news about his relationship with the King of Sachima?”

Viktor sighs. “As Mr. Chulanont represents Thailand and therefore is ineligible to compete at the European Championships, I am unable to comment at this time.”

“Can we expect a Royal Wedding, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“No comment.” Attempting to explain has been useless, politeness has gotten him nowhere. He’s done.

There’s a shout from the rear of the room. “What is His Majesty like in bed? Any favorite positions, Mr. Nikiforov? Unusual kinks?”

His jaw drops. An ISO official steps in at that point, cutting the press conference short. “Mr. Nikiforov will accept no further questions at this time. Please direct all inquiries and interview requests to the ISO, the RSF, or the Sachiman Royal Palace. Thank you all for your time.”

Viktor is guided out of the room by security guards while others do their best to keep the press under control, and he is quickly shuttled to the waiting van out back. The gold medal rests heavily against his chest, shimmering in the low lighting. The ride to the hotel is quiet, dinner that night even more so. Yakov says nothing aside from running through the next day’s schedule. Viktor is told he won’t be attending the banquet, a welcome relief at this point, and Nakayama comes back from the consulate to discuss Viktor’s return travel plans. He’ll be going straight to the jet from the exhibition, with a direct flight to Hasetsu.

Having his plans dictated like this is nothing if not irritating, but at this point he’s too tired to care. The competition has been a nightmare, he’s more tired than he’s ever been after a free skate, and he just wants to get back to Yuuri. Back to the palace, where he’s not hounded every second, and as he drifts to sleep he can’t stop himself wondering when it was the palace became anything close to a comfort.

 

~*~

 

Viktor stays in the hotel the next day, leaving only to do his exhibition skate. It’s boring, it’s irritating, and he’s grateful he can buy and read books on his phone because it’s almost impossible for him to do anything else. He can’t leave, since the venue can’t spare the manpower for the day. There’s no use watching television, much of the programming is in Czech and what is in English is mostly news.

Suitcases are packed before his escorts arrive. There’s no use coming back to the hotel if he’s leaving right after the skate, and he makes sure to pack a comfortable outfit for the flight home. Extra books are downloaded onto his phone, in case the one he’s reading now doesn’t capture his attention. Among them is a book on basic Sachiman Japanese. If he’s going to think about marrying into the Royal Family, he should have an idea of how to talk to the people they rule.

That, and he’s never liked allowing someone else to speak for him if he could help it. It’s why he studied English so intensively, so he could make sure his words were truly his own. Doing his standard last check of the room, Viktor checks under beds for socks, the couch cushions, the bathroom, just to be sure, and when everything is packed, it’s stacked next to the door. His gear bag, garment bag, and a duffel with toiletries and his change of clothes set to the side.

Finishing half an hour before he’s scheduled to go to the venue, Viktor pulls his phone out, smiling as he opens Yuuri’s texts. They’re filled with his comments during the skate, heart-eyes everywhere and Viktor smiles. Yuuri’s never made his commentary about Viktor’s success, never made it sound like the skill Viktor has is taken for granted. He _watches_ the programs, makes notes of the things he enjoys, the little changes he notices, and he doesn’t focus on jumps like the media seems to. It’s endearing, it’s wonderful, and Viktor loves him for it.

 

When he arrives for the Exhibition he’s driven as close to the doors as is physically possible, hurried past the press and inside without any time to think. He warms up, changes, and when it’s his turn to go on the ice, he throws on his most dazzling smile. The song he’s skating to is fast, angry almost. One of his more popular free programs from the recent years. He’s changed it, adding footwork and taking out some jumps, and as he takes his opening laps he rolls his neck and shoulders.

He can do angry, he knows, and as he takes his opening position he lets himself fall into the feeling. His blades tear through the ice as he moves his hips, his shoulders, and he swirls into spins and dramatic step sequences. It’s harsh, it’s thrilling, it’s invigorating and cathartic and leaves him gasping for air when he’s done. The crowd roars, and he greets them with his standard flourish and makes his way off the ice.

Goodbyes are said in the locker room, Georgi offering him the rare hug before he takes his leave. Yakov reminds him to email, reminds him of their scheduled sessions to review video Viktor will be taking weekly. It’s the last push before the World Championships in a month’s time, and Viktor needs to be in top shape. During the drive to the airport, he pulls out his phone, entering their arranged sessions into his schedule on the Palace app. There are a few tentative events scheduled, he sees, and he confirms his availability so the Palace can finalize the plans. He brings up the messages with Yuuri to update him.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Finally heading to the airport!**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   aside from the press and rude af people, how was the competition?**  
**< <<   i watched the exhibition, your skating was incredible!! o(^▽^)o **

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   You watched?**

**From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   of course i did. _(:3」∠)_ **  
**< <<   i always do**  
**< <<   i always watch your programs, vitya**  
**< <<   by the way, my mom loves them too**  
**< <<   mari’s ambivalent, but she’s ambivalent about a lot of things**  
**< <<   we’re gonna have to explain scoring to them, though**

 

The car drives directly to the hangar, and his luggage is loaded into the cabin once he’s on board. It being a fairly large jet carrying only him and a few members of staff, there’s more than enough room for his suitcases, and he’s thankful when he realizes he packed his phone charger in what would have, on a normal trip, been checked luggage. He pulls out his phone as the crew do final checks.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**   
** >>>   We’re about to take off! ε===(っ≧ω≦)っ**   
** >>>   I’ll see you soon, Любовь!   ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)**   
** >>>   I should probably sleep a little on the flight so I can get back on schedule (∪｡∪)｡｡｡zzz  **

**From: Yuuri <3**   
** <<<   i can’t wait to see you!! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ w ⁄<⁄ ⁄)♡ ❤**   
** <<<   i’ll try to meet you at the hangar**   
** <<<   i have a meeting around that time so i’m not sure (ノ ゜д゜)ノ  **   
** <<<   i’ll try to have things shifted around. i was thinking lunch with mari?**

**To: Yuuri <3**   
** >>>   Sounds wonderful!! (ᗒ♡ᗕ) **

**From: Yuuri <3**   
** <<<   sleep well, vityusha  (ɔˆ ³(∪｡∪)｡｡｡zzZ**   
** <<<   i’ll see you when you get here (or as soon after as i can) (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ♡**   
** <<<   be safe. i love you**

**To: Yuuri <3**   
** >>>   I love you, too!!**

 

He plugs his phone into the on-board power supply and reclines his chair. When he finally gets to sleep, an hour into the flight, it’s to a suffocating, cacophonous darkness, a hand on his arm, then more on his hands, legs, feet, dragging him further into something unknown and unfathomable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Take it easy, take it slow  
>  **Don’t let him go.**_  
>  \- REO Speedwagon
> 
> Special thanks to Isis and [Riki](https://rikichie.tumblr.com) for their invaluable assistance in keeping me from completely losing my shit.
> 
> **Translations:**  
>  Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> Cолнышко моё (Solnishko moyo) = “My sun(shine)” in Russian  
> (ваше) Величество ((vashe) Velichestvo) = “(Your) Majesty” in Russian  
> Спасибо (Spasibo) = “Thank you” in Russian  
> Пожалуйста (Pozhaluysta) = “You’re welcome” in Russian
> 
>  
> 
> High Treason: Specifically, treason (criminal disloyalty) against the state. High treason includes killing (or attempting to kill) a head of state. Since Yuuri was in hiding specifically due to fear of assassination, release of his location (or revealing his identity) could be seen as an attempt to get him killed. As he was the next head of state, and likely to become so soon, I’m sure they’d have found a way to twist his exposure into a charge of high treason should Minako have tried to tell Viktor. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Pictures and a description of a Half-Windsor tie knot can be found here.](https://www.ties.com/how-to-tie-a-tie/half-windsor)
> 
>  
> 
> [Pelmeni (пельме́ни)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pelmeni) are wonton-like dumplings with a meat filling. Can be served with sour cream.
> 
> [Solyanka (соля́нка)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solyanka) is a spicy-sour soup.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	10. I Keep You Like an Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise as they work to adapt, and Viktor finishes the competitive season with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Uma Thurman by Fall Out Boy.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hipFGoni6Js)

When Viktor walks off the plane, gear bag over his legs and back sore, he’s met with an empty hangar. An attendant who’d exited just after him looks around, confused.

“They were supposed to be here just as you landed, sir,” she says. “I apologize, I’ll go check on their status and be back in just a moment.” She’s three steps up the stairway when a black hatchback pulls into the hangar.

“That won’t be necessary,” Viktor says, and he hears a sigh of relief as she turns around and heads back down.

The driver’s side door opens, on the right-hand side of the car instead of the left, and rather than the uniformed chauffeur he’s come to expect, out steps Yuuri in nice jeans, a button-up, and a waistcoat. His sleeves are rolled up, and Viktor’s heart skips a beat as he makes his way around the car, grinning. There’s a skip in his step, and then another, and he and Viktor are moving quickly towards each other, coming together with a deep kiss.

“Velichestvo,” Viktor says softly.

“Vitya,” Yuuri replies, kissing him again. “Welcome back!”

“You came to pick me up! Did you drive yourself?”

“Yep,” Yuuri replies as Viktor’s bags are loaded into the back.

“Do you have a license here?”

“I do now,” he says with a smirk.

“Did you sign your own paperwork?”

“Technically, yes,” he says, “but I had them give me the tests and I made it clear I was to be scored fairly. They did their jobs.”

“So why did _you_ have to sign, then?”

“A driver’s license is… technically a written note of permission for the person to drive, right?” Viktor nods as the back of the car is closed. “Well,” Yuuri continues, _“technically_ no one has the authority to give me permission for anything, so I had to sign the papers myself. I have to do the same for all immediate members of the Royal Family.” The attendants wheel away the cart used for Viktor’s luggage, one of them giving Yuuri a nod confirming they’ve finished. Yuuri smiles.

“Back to the palace, Vityusha? Mari and my mother are meeting us for lunch.”

“Please.”

When Viktor opens the door, the smell of coffee wafts out and he smiles. “You made us drinks, Velichestvo?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, “and that’s the driver’s seat, remember?”

Right. Viktor’s used to riding in the backs of cars here. Yuuri’s only ever picked him up in American cars, and he's a creature of habit. He walks around the hood, opening the other door and sliding into the seat, placing his gear bag on the floor in front of him. Buckling his seatbelt, he smiles at Yuuri, who leans over the center console, kissing him happily. “It's good to see you, Vityusha,” he says as his seatbelt clicks into place. “How was your flight?”

“It was good,” Viktor responds, picking up the ceramic travel mug with a smile. “I slept through most of it, but I’m still ridiculously tired.” He doesn’t mention the nightmare he’d had at first, the uneasy sleep that followed. The coffee is delicious and highly caffeinated.

“Sorry I was a bit late,” Yuuri says as he pulls out of the hangar. “I, uhh, got lost.”

Glancing into the back of the car, Viktor checks to see if there’s anyone else present. Satisfied there isn’t he looks over. “You got lost, Lyubov?” Yuuri blushes. “Don’t you have GPS?” Viktor continues with a raised eyebrow.

“I took a wrong turn,” Yuuri retorts. “I figured it out. That, and the guards at the hangar had to check my ID.”

“Is that unusual?”

“When there’s a motorcade, yes, but I came in a private vehicle so they had to make sure. They have the plate number now, so they’ll know it’s me in the future.”

“I’m surprised the Palace let you come alone,” Viktor says. The coffee is sweet, creamy, and warm on his tongue and he smiles.

Yuuri laughs nervously, glancing into the rearview mirror. “They didn’t. I’m being tailed by three separate cars right now.” Viktor looks out the back, but Yuuri pulls on his sleeve. “Just act normally,” he says. “We don’t want to draw attention to us or my bodyguards.”

“Of course!” Viktor sips his coffee again. Yuuri makes his way through the city, following the GPS to the letter.

“I found out about my paper,” Yuuri says as he takes a turn onto a wide road. “I have to finish it still, but he’s letting me do the presentation remotely and cutting down on the amount of assignments I have to turn in.”

“Well, that’s good,” Viktor replies, taking another drink. The coffee is soothing and he settles into the seat as Yuuri drives. “So it’s just the paper and presentation?”

“Yeah, and I finished most of the paper before we left Detroit.”

Viktor looks at him. “Around preparations to come back?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah.”

“And work?”

“Mhmm.” He turns a corner.

“Did you ever sleep?” Yuuri’d been in a constant state of near-exhaustion since mid-fall, and it had been at its worst while Viktor was in Russia, just before the trip.

“Hardly,” Yuuri sighs, pursing his lips. His face has started to fill out again, Viktor notices. Despite looking somewhat tired all the time, the dark circles under his eyes haven’t been nearly as vivid as before.

They’re still there, though, and Viktor squeezes his hand.

It's not long before the palace comes into view, but instead of taking the front gates, Yuuri drives down a side street. He pulls into the smaller driveway used for everyday purposes, off-limits to the general public. When they pull up at the guardhouse, all he does is roll the window down and they’re let through with a bow.

The remainder of the drive is short, Yuuri pulling up next to the rear entrance smoothly. Viktor finishes his coffee as they come to a stop. “What do you want me to do with this?” he asks of the cup.

Yuuri glances over. “Just leave it in the cupholder, they’ll take it to the kitchens to be washed. Do you want to stop by your room for a bit or go to lunch?”

Food sounds good, but so does sleep. Viktor sighs. It’s early afternoon in Hasetsu, and as wonderful as sleep would be, staying up would help get rid of the jet lag faster. “Let’s go straight to lunch.”

They get out of the car, Yuuri walking around to meet Viktor next to the passenger side door. Rocking up on his toes, Yuuri kisses Viktor and he tastes like the mocha he’d been drinking, rich chocolate on his lips. Viktor’s bags are unloaded onto a cart, and an attendant approaches with a bow.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “would you like to retrieve anything from your luggage before it’s taken to your room, sir?”

Viktor pats his pockets. He has his phone, and it’d been left charging on the plane so he’s in no need of his battery pack for power. Anything else he could need would be easy enough to fetch himself, and he smiles. “I’m good, thank you,” he says. “I appreciate it.”

The attendant nods. Yuuri hands off the keys as he heads inside, pulling Viktor by the hand. “I had my meetings this morning,” he says. “There’ll be another this evening, but I have a few hours around lunch.”

“What’s for lunch?” Viktor asks around an attempt to stifle a yawn.

“Hamburgers,” Yuuri says.

“Hamburgers.”

“I wanted them.” Blushing, Yuuri guides Viktor through the halls. When they reach the dining room, Viktor notices there’s a different table set up. Instead of the small square table they usually eat off of, there’s a longer table, made to fit six or so, and Yuuri frowns as he pulls off his shoes.

“This is weird,” he says. The first to arrive, he and Viktor make their way to the table, Yuuri sitting at the head. Viktor takes a seat next to him, and Yuuri pulls out his phone.

“Are we expecting someone?”

Yuuri shrugs. “Mari hasn’t said anything,” he replies, “and neither has my mother. I didn’t invite anyone else, so I have no idea. Unless there’s a visitor I forgot about.” Eyes wide, Yuuri brings up his schedule, looking through it for any hint of what could be going on. The door slides open, Mari and Hiroko entering and taking off their shoes before they pad over the tatami.

Mari takes her seat next to Viktor, while Hiroko sits opposite him to Yuuri’s left.

Yuuri glances at the empty space next to Mari.

“Who’s joining us?” he asks, just as the door behind them slides open once more.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Minako says as she pulls off her flats. When she steps into the room she gives a deep bow, before moving to sit next to Mari.

“Minako-san,” Hiroko says, “I’m glad you’ve made it! Welcome home!”

“It’s good to be home,” she replies, “it’s been a while.”

Yuuri smiles when Minako addresses him. “Your Majesty, it’s good to see you in good health.” It’s impossible to miss the way her eyes run up and down Yuuri’s body, taking in the jeans with mild surprise.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri replies with a nod, “it’s good to see you, too. Was your trip alright?”

“It was, thank you,” Minako goes to greet Mari but is interrupted as the food is brought out, and finally they’re left alone.

“You’ve grown, Your Highness,” she says to Mari.

The princess nods. “It’s been too long, Minako-sensei,” she replies. “How was life in the States?”

“Alright,” she says, chipper even as she visibly fights jet lag. “It was less eventful than I’d imagined, but that’s not a bad thing.”

Yuuri snorts, picking up his hamburger and taking a large bite. Minako glances at him, an eyebrow raised, but turns to smile at Hiroko.

The Queen Mother leans forward, taking Minako’s hand in her own. “Thank you,” she says, and Viktor hears over a decade's worth of sadness and overwhelming relief in her voice. “Thank you for bringing him home safely.”

“Your Majesty, Hana-san and I wouldn't have had it any other way.”

 

Lunch goes quickly, and when they're done Mari and Hiroko take Minako off for a reintroduction to the grounds, leaving Viktor and Yuuri to themselves. Yuuri takes his hand with a smile as they wander towards the working office. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Viktor asks. Yuuri squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“After the absolute catastrophe at Europeans, I think you should have bodyguards,” Yuuri says softly.

“What do you mean?” Viktor’s had bodyguards before, mostly at major competitions, but the way Yuuri's talking makes it sound more serious.

“I mean I want to get you a permanent security detail for when you’re not on palace grounds, and especially when you’re out of the country.”

“Like what you have.”

Yuuri nods. “Exactly.”

Viktor purses his lips, eyes narrowing slightly. It makes sense, this new level of security, when he considers who he’s engaged to, and he should have expected this, but there’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach he can’t quite name. A thrum of energy he can’t figure out, but he only nods in agreement. The relief Yuuri feels is visible.

“Excellent,” Yuuri says with a smile. “You’ll have one guard with you day-to-day, but probably two or three for competitions and such. They’re very discreet, and they’ll make sure you can get where you need to go.”

“And this will be… Every time I leave the grounds?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, nodding. “It'll be weird at first, but it shouldn't feel that way for long. I'll have them screen candidates over the next few days, I want to make sure all of your bodyguards are fluent in Russian as well as English and Japanese. Probably one or two who speak French, too, just in case.”

“Yuuri, my English is fine.”

“I just want communication to be as easy as possible. This way you could choose the language you’re most comfortable with, and they’ll be able to do their job more easily in whatever situations you may end up in. Such as going to Russia. Which… you may well end up doing. Since you’re Russian.” Yuuri looks at his mug, spinning it in his hands.

“Alright, Lyubov,” Viktor says, leaning over to kiss him. He can’t tell if he’s relieved or just tired, but he resists the urge to lay down on the table. Yuuri rubs the back of his hand.

“You can read in my office instead of the sitting room if you want help staying up, today. I'll have coffee brought.”

“It won't be _your_ coffee,” Viktor grumbles.

“You just _had_ my coffee.” Yuuri kisses his forehead. “Come on, Vityusha. We can put some music on?”

After considering his options, Viktor reluctantly agrees. Yuuri grins, pulling him close. “I’m so happy you’re home,” he says softly. Viktor holds Yuuri, kisses his gelled hair, and smiles. It’s good to have Yuuri in his arms again.

 

~*~

 

The next practice a couple of days later, is particularly demanding. Doing one of his weekly video sessions with Yakov, Viktor ends up spending most of it running jumps, working on gaining height and distance. It leaves his thighs and knees weak when he gets home late afternoon, and by the time dinner is through he can feel the soreness settling in. He uses the ache as an excuse to put his arm around Yuuri as they head out of the dining room, exaggerating his struggle in the hopes that Yuuri will indulge him with a massage. Instead of heading into the staircase as is expected, Yuuri takes them through the doors to the private garden, down the stairs, and onto a paved path.

“Yuuri, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Yuuri replies. “But trust me, you’ll like it.”

Viktor sighs. They keep walking away from the warmth of the palace, down dimly-lit paths and across wooden bridges over the flowing, river-like water features, and after another minute of admittedly slow walking, Viktor leans harder on Yuuri.

“So where are we going again?” He’s all for surprises but at this point he just wants to put his legs up, rest his aching feet and knees and forget that he’s got to run a few miles tomorrow morning before heading to the gym.

“The baths,” Yuuri sighs. “We’re going to the baths.”

“I have a bath. _You_ have a bath and it’ll fit _both_ of us.” He’s almost whining now, but his feet hurt and he wants to not be on them anymore.

“We have a natural hot spring on the property. I thought we could soak together. It should feel nice after the practice you’ve had.” Yuuri blushes softly as they walk. It being late evening, he’s dressed casually in nice jeans and a button-up, his head bare of any ornamentation save his glasses. It’s refreshingly normal, if Viktor’s being honest, and as they walk he kisses Yuuri’s head. They come across a smaller building, lit softly in the night. Inside are cubby holes for their things and a large bathing area. Yuuri guides him through how they’ll be washing up, and as he pulls off his shirt he hears a gasp, Yuuri staring at his arm. Viktor looks at his bicep, and sees the purple-green of bruises left when he was grabbed. Tenderly, Yuuri traces his fingers over the marks, frowning.

“It looks like it hurt,” he says softly.

“It did,” Viktor responds, because there’s no denying it now. Yuuri kisses the bruises, lips gentle against sensitive skin, before pulling Viktor in to wash up. In short order they're walking outside in only their towels. Before Viktor lies a huge, steaming pool of water, open to the air but somehow still intimate within the confines of the fences. The steam warms the air pleasantly, and a small shiver goes down Viktor’s back as he steps onto the cold concrete.

Yuuri smiles over his bare shoulder, before pulling his towel off, exposing what may be the nicest pair of thighs Viktor’s had the privilege to see, and walking gracefully into the water. Viktor strips off his own towel, shivering slightly as a breeze drifts through. Tentatively, he steps into the pool before him. The water is warm, almost hot, and as he gets further in, he can feel the muscles in his legs relaxing.

He copies Yuuri, folding his towel and placing it on his head as he lowers himself into the pool. Smiling as Viktor sits next to him, Yuuri sinks a little further into the water. “You can speak freely here,” he says, with the same grimace he wears every time he has to give Viktor permission to do anything.

Viktor looks at his boyfriend, glowing in the low light around the bath, and can't stop a happy sigh escaping his lips. Yuuri looks at him inquisitively.

“You look more relaxed, somehow,” Viktor says, “even with everything that’s going on.”

Yuuri frowns at him. “Relaxed? I look _relaxed?!”_

“In a way. You're more open.”

“Might have something to do with not having to hide anything anymore.” Yuuri sighs as he leans his head against the rocks behind him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, kingship is still stressful, but at least I can be honest about who I am.” Viktor nods as he pulls Yuuri closer. “I hated lying to you, Vityusha.”

“I know, Lyubov.” He presses a kiss to Yuuri's temple. “I know.”

Yuuri sighs against him. Pressing a kiss to his hair, Viktor rubs his shoulder as he takes a few deep breaths, before going oddly still. There’s a hitched gasp, and then Yuuri lets out a shaky breath.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asks, looking at Yuuri with concern.

“I just — “ Yuuri starts, before swallowing thickly. “I’m _King,_ Vitya.”

Viktor pulls him closer with a grimace.

 _“I’m_ the king now,” Yuuri says, and his voice breaks. Tears run down his face and he shakes as Viktor holds him close. There’s nothing to say in response and not for the first time he’s at a loss as to what to do, how to help. He kisses the top of Yuuri’s head.

“I'm sorry, Lyubov,” he says softly. “I'm so sorry.” If he could take Yuuri’s pain, bottle it up and store it away in his own heart he would, just to see a genuine smile on his face again. That isn’t an option, though, and he rests his cheek on the top of Yuuri’s head. Yuuri just curls into him, staying close even as the tears begin to slow. Soon enough, all that’s left of his crying spell is the occasional hitched sob, and he rubs his eyes as he pulls away.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“You shouldn’t be,” Viktor replies.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Lyubov, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Sighing, Yuuri snuggles closer to him. “Ok. Sorry.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor admonishes.

“You’re right I’m—” cutting himself off, Yuuri merely sinks into the water, a small bunch of bubbles appearing briefly in front of his face. He must have apologized underwater, but Viktor says nothing, merely lowering himself into the warmth of the pool as well. The water isn’t cooling around them, _won’t_ cool around them, and Viktor sends a silent prayer of thanks as he puts his arm around Yuuri once more.

 

~*~

 

As they walk back to Yuuri’s room through the dimly-lit hallways, Yuuri abruptly runs towards an open door.  “My piano!” he exclaims, hurrying into a side room. Viktor follows closely, entering a beautiful music room. Yuuri takes a seat at a black grand piano, resting his fingers gently on the keys. He gives a few tentative presses, runs a couple of short melodies, smiling when he hears it perfectly tuned. Turning, he pats the bench next to him.

“Do you play at all?” he asks.

“No,” Viktor says, sitting to Yuuri’s left. “I never had time to learn.”

“I’m not great,” Yuuri says, “but I know how to play a few things.” With a small grin, he starts playing a light, simple tune. “You must learn your scales and your arpeggios,” he sings, slightly off-key, before trailing off. He gives Viktor a sheepish smile. “I forgot the rest of the lyrics,” he says, fingers flying across the keys. The lilting song picks up new lines of melodies, and Yuuri hums to himself as he plays. The song ends with cacophonous banging on the keys, and Yuuri laughs when Viktor wraps his arms around him.

“That was magnificent, Velichestvo!”

The door behind them opens, an attendant shyly sticking their head in the crack. He starts when he sees Yuuri, quickly coming in and bowing deeply. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I was just checking to see who was playing.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says gently. “I appreciate your diligence. Mr. Nikiforov and I will be returning to our quarters shortly.”

The attendant nods, bowing again before backing out of the door and closing it. Yuuri leans against Viktor. “We should go back to my room,” he sighs. They stand, and Yuuri pulls Viktor by the hand as he navigates the halls. When they approach the area with the stairs, Viktor must appear distraught because the look on Yuuri’s face immediately changes to pity. He looks around before nodding determinedly.

“Get on my back,” he says.

“What.”

“Piggyback ride, get on my back.” Crouching down, Yuuri stays steady as Viktor crawls onto him, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s torso, his legs around Yuuri’s waist, and he silently gives thanks as Yuuri’s chest muscles engage under his hands as he stands up. The stairs don’t give Yuuri as much trouble as Viktor had thought they would, but when they exit the stairwell they run almost directly into Mari, who raises one eyebrow as she looks Yuuri up and down.

“You know we have an elevator, right?” She asks. Viktor most certainly did not, and he thinks back to all the times he’s had to nearly crawl up the stairs after a hard practice. He’s tempted to pinch Yuuri, but would rather not end up on the floor so he refrains.

“I know we do,” Yuuri replies, “but I was too lazy to walk all the way over.”

Miraculously, Mari manages to look even more skeptical. “You didn’t want to walk over a couple of hallways, so you _carried your boyfriend up the stairs?”_

“They were _right here,”_ Yuuri says.

“Yuuri, Viktor is both taller _and_ heavier than you!” She’s right, and Viktor holds tighter, his heart doing all sorts of flips in his chest.

“Maybe so, but the stairs were closer.” He shifts Viktor’s weight, but doesn’t give any indication that he’s trying to set him down so Viktor stays put.  “Anyway, he’s had a hard practice.”

Mari just rolls her eyes as Yuuri walks past.

“Hey, Yuuri,” she says when they’re a few feet down the hall. Yuuri turns around.

“Yeah?”

“If you’d like, I can have the staff move Viktor’s stuff to your room. Make things easier on you two. And them.”

The limited areas of Yuuri’s face visible to Viktor go bright red, even moreso when Viktor chuckles and kisses his jaw. “I-I’ll think about it,” he stammers. “Good night.”

Mari snorts, before waving a hand and turning back to wherever she was going.

“You know,” Viktor says after they continue to Yuuri’s room, “that might not be a bad idea.”

“I ought to drop you,” Yuuri mutters,  walking faster as Mari’s laugh rings clearly through the hallway.

 

~*~

 

Minako’s an imposing presence when Viktor enters the study next to the dance studio. As he closes the door behind him, she turns away from the window she’s standing in front of. “Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “welcome.” Sitting in an armchair, she gestures at the coffee table. “Tea?” she asks.

“Please,” Viktor responds. She pours him a cup, handing both cup and saucer to him before pouring her own. Leaning back in her chair, she gives him an appraising look.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says with a smile. “You seem to be doing well, what with everything that’s going on.”

“I am,” Viktor says. He sips his tea. It’s unclear where she’s going with this. Yuuri’s mentioned that she’s a demanding taskmaster, but for now she seems to be taking her time with him, getting a feel for who he is. That instinct to tell people what they want to hear roars to life, urging him to lie his way into her good graces.

But he’s not _here_ to get into her good graces, he’s here to _learn_ from her, and the only way to do that is to tell the truth. There’s a soft _clink_ as Minako sets her teacup on the side table. Interlacing her fingers, she leans back in the chair with a smile.

“Tell me, Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “what you’re currently planning on doing to prepare to potentially marry into the Royal Family. I’m not looking for a right or wrong response.”

Much like Lilia, she keeps her tone and manner neutral in order to encourage honesty. Viktor looks into his teacup. “I ordered a book on the language,” he says. It’s a start, and a good one at that if the way she smiles is any indication.

“So you realize the value of speaking the people’s language.”

“It’s Yuuri’s, too,” he says.

 _“His Majesty's,”_ she corrects. “You should default to referring to him by title with people outside of his immediate family— or Mr. Chulanont, I suppose— when you’re in private.”

Viktor nods. “If I’m going to be His Majesty’s partner, I need to be able to keep up with him no matter what language he’s speaking.”

“And what of the culture?” Blinking in confusion, Viktor rests his teacup on the armrest. Minako leans forward. “His Majesty insisted you’d be able to handle navigating social situations. Are you confident in your ability to do so in a country with cultural norms entirely different from your own?”

Knowing the bare basics of Sachiman culture has helped, but it hasn’t been enough even for the minimal social interaction he’s had thus far, and he’s spent much of his time looking to Yuuri for guidance. He won’t be able to continue to do so once he’s making independent appearances. Looking at her, he can tell she sees that he’s starting to understand.

“Mr. Nikiforov, much of your experience in higher-class society has been Eurocentric. Western. While we tend to lean more towards a Western approach when hosting large numbers of international guests, domestic events, primarily those with the Akitsushiman Nobility and certainly public visits, will tend more towards our native culture.” Picking up her tea, she takes another sip. “I have no doubt you can learn the ins and outs of court, Mr. Nikiforov,” she says. “Lilia has spoken highly of your intellect and adaptability, but there may be more work than you anticipated. Knowing this, are you still willing to continue?”

Viktor nods without hesitation. “Yes, I am.”

Smiling with satisfaction, Minako nods. “I’d hoped that’s what you’d say, and so quickly, too. What else do _you_ feel you need to work on?”

Shrugging, Viktor meets her eyes. “Culture and language. Yu- His Majesty has emphasized titles and protocols as well. History. I’m fully aware that I… don’t know what all I need to learn.”

“That’s a good start,” Minako replies, “and that’s what I’m here for. Today we’ll work on forms of address, since that’s something you should have known before you got here.”

“To be fair I—” Viktor stops as she holds her hand up.

“Not your fault,” she says. “I was fully in support of the palace allowing His Majesty to tell you who he was. I’d hoped I’d have the opportunity to work with you, if you so chose, _before_ you’d need to know all of this.”

“His Majesty was planning that far ahead?”

She laughs, picking up her tea again. “Not planning so much as hoping. He didn’t know if you’d want to stay, so he didn’t go much further than expressing a desire for you to have time to get used to the idea. Hana, his bodyguard, and I were hoping that if you were told and intended to stay with him, we’d have some time to help out, but… well, things happened how they happened.” She gestures at the end table next to Viktor. “I’ve prepared a binder for you with the information you’ll find relevant in your day-to-day life here at court, and if you turn to the section marked ‘Titles, Hierarchies, and Forms of Address’ you’ll find a chart on the first page.”

“Before we begin,” Viktor says, “I do have a request.”

“What is it?” She sits back, her own binder now on her lap.

“His Majesty mentioned that you did ballet,” he says, “and in particular, that you used to teach it. Lilia has spoken well of you, too. I was wondering if you would be willing to work with me while I train for Worlds.”

Minako chuckles. “You’re _asking_ me to train you?”

“Yes.” Irritation washes over Viktor as she straightens up.

“No need to get upset,” she says, “I’ll do it. I’ll need to call Lilia tonight and tell her you asked me to work with you before I had to drag you into the studio myself. Just this morning she sent me an email to see if I’d make sure you kept up on your training.”

That certainly sounds like Lilia. Viktor smiles again, now that he knows she wasn’t laughing at him. He opens the binder to the correct section, and begins his first lesson.

 

~*~

 

Heading to the rink the next morning, Viktor’s met at the car by a tall man in jeans and a thick coat. “Mr. Nikiforov,” he says briskly. “My name is Yulian, I’ve been assigned as your new bodyguard.”

“Are you going with me to practice?”

Yulian nods. “Yes sir, I’m to accompany you at all times.”

“Even to the bathroom?”

“I won’t be standing in the stall, if that’s what you’re wondering, but I will be outside the door, yes.”

Viktor huffs before getting in the car. His new bodyguard slides in next to him, and tension thrums in the background. It doesn’t die down during the drive, nor does it lessen when Viktor’s finally on the ice. Yulian sits on the bleachers, bundled up, while Viktor runs through his routines. He’s unobtrusive, blending into the background and occasionally making a circuit around the building, but Viktor can feel his eyes scanning the room, can feel himself being watched.

A shiver runs down his spine as he runs jumps. He’s had a security detail before. He’s been escorted and accompanied and taken around and all of the other fancy words and phrases that mean “willingly stalked” enough that it shouldn’t be throwing him off like this. It’s only the first day, though, and Yuuri had promised the discomfort would fade with time, as Viktor becomes used to having his every move watched. It’s not a particularly _exciting_ prospect, but one he’ll learn to deal with. He made the choice when he asked to stay. He agreed to living life as a royal, to get used to how it will be if he marries into the family.

This is just part of that.

He lands a quad flip perfectly, sure-footed, and allows the momentum to carry him into a step sequence. Europeans had left him a little dazed, to be sure. The rush of dodging crowds (to varying levels of success) combined with the sheer amount of pressure and being manhandled by fans and security guards alike still catches Viktor off guard when he remembers. Shouting, pushing, he’s had it happen but never like this. Never with such ferocity that he’s been scared. He moves into a spin, fast enough that it would be disorienting if it weren’t for years of practice.

He’d been _scared._ For a second there, he’d felt panicked, trapped by warm bodies and the cold lenses of cameras all around, a barrage of questions thundering through his very core. Being grabbed hadn’t helped. At the same time, he’s had all of this before, has been accompanied by security enough in the past that it shouldn’t be _getting_ to him like it is. A lazy step sequence. A spread eagle into a triple axel and it feels nice to let his body glide across the ice as he calms himself. He keeps his eyes open, when he needs to, but avoids looking at the bleachers at the side of the rink. Yulian sits there, still. Ever watchful, ever faithful to his duties.

The questions he’d been asked at the press conference, and later by the crowd, turn Viktor’s stomach when he thinks of them again.

Another step sequence, this one hard and fast, one he’s planning for next season. The theme of the song is about sensual love, but all he feels is frustration as he swirls and steps his way across the ice. Frustration with not being able to compete properly, frustration with his frustration. He moves through the rest of the routine, and it leaves him sweating and tired as he cools down. Yulian follows him to the locker room, and then out to the car, only leaving Viktor’s side when they’re safely inside the palace grounds.

 

His frustration must evident despite his smile when he finally gets to Yuuri’s office, since Yuuri picks up on it instantly. He finishes saying whatever it is he’s saying to the cabinet members talking to him and dismisses them, before making his way over to Viktor.

“Vitya?” he says, brushing Viktor’s hair out of his face. “What is it? Did something happen?”

Sighing, Viktor kisses his forehead. “It’s nothing, Velichestvo,” he replies softly. “I’m just having trouble with the bodyguard situation.”

“Did he do something?” Yuuri asks, eyes narrowed.

“No, I just… what do you mean Europeans was a ‘catastrophe?’ Nothing happened there that hasn’t happened to me before.”

“They _grabbed_ you, Vitya! You have bruises!”

Viktor glances at his arm and sighs. “I’ve been grabbed in the past, people just want better camera angles or to force me to give them my attention.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “I was taught when I was grabbed, it was an attempted kidnapping at _best.”_ The implications hit harder than the words themselves. Viktor sighs. He rubs his arm and nods.

“I’m just not used to having bodyguards with me all the time, Lyubov,” he says as he kisses Yuuri’s forehead.

“I know it’s an adjustment, Vityusha,” Yuuri replies. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think they were necessary.”

“I know,” Viktor replies. “I know.”

Yuuri gives him a kiss on the chin, then one on his nose. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For?” Viktor looks down.

“It makes me feel better knowing you have them.” Kissing his lips, Yuuri looks up. Warm and fond, his face betrays nothing but love. Viktor holds him close, firm against his body as he breathes the smell of Yuuri’s shampoo and tries to calm the unease that’s apparently determined to make its home in the back of his mind.

 

~*~

 

The private hangar echoes as the plane comes to a stop. Yuuri stands next to Viktor, a serious expression on his face, but his lips twitch up at the corners and his eyes sparkle brightly. The door to the plane opens, and Viktor hears metal jangling and paws running down the stairs and he’s nearly bowled over by a ball of brown fur. Makkachin licks his face as he laughs, and he holds him tightly for a few minutes. It’s so good to have his dog back in his arms.

When he stands, Yuuri and Phichit stand a ways away, holding hands and touching foreheads. Their conversation is a quiet murmur, but something Phichit says makes Yuuri laugh and it's music. Makkachin takes notice of Yuuri then, bounding over and jumping up as he kneels, arms open. Yuuri buries his face in the poodle’s fur, scratching his sides and back. He’s smiling, Viktor can tell, and the way Makka licks his face, it’s clear they missed each other. Makkachin then runs around excitedly, grateful to be on solid ground once more. Hiroko smiles at Viktor as he moves closer, squeezing his hand lightly. She’s never without a smile for him, as affectionate with him as she is with her own children, and it’s comforting to know he’s not _entirely_ alone outside of Yuuri.

“We’ve had a dog bed placed in your room, Vicchan,” she says gently, “but he’s welcome to sleep with you in the bed if you'd prefer.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

There are more footsteps coming down the jetway, and when Yuuri looks over, his face breaks into a grin. “Nee-chan!” he shouts happily, jogging over. A woman who looks just a few years older than Viktor wraps her arms around him when he hugs her.

“Your Majesty, it’s good to see you!” She beams, clapping her hands on his shoulders. Looking him up and down, she pulls him into another hug before letting go. “You’re looking well,” she says with a smile.

Yuuri nods. He bites his lower lip as he grins. “You, too. Is everything being shipped out?”

“It is. I took care of the paperwork as well, like you requested.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Did you bring me kettle corn?”

The woman laughs. “Of course, Majesty, I wouldn’t forget that.”

Looking at Viktor, Yuuri grins. “Vitya, will you please come here?”

Viktor makes his way over. Yuuri looks excitedly between him and the woman. “Vitya, this is my bodyguard, Hana. The one who took care of me while I was in hiding. She’s the ‘sister’ I was living with. Hana-neechan, this is Viktor Nikiforov, my boyfriend.”

“You’ve mentioned him once or twice,” she says, smiling. Holding her hand out, she gives Viktor a nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Nikiforov,” she laughs. “His Majesty’s told me so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he says with a smile, giving her hand a brisk shake. “He hasn’t mentioned much about you, but with circumstances like they were I can see why.”

She nods genially. “We couldn’t risk you recognizing me when I tailed him. It’d ruin the date. Or whatever you were doing at the time.”

Blushing, Yuuri clears his throat. “Nee-chan, why?”

“Well I hardly got to joke around in Detroit, Your Majesty.”

Yuuri looks behind Viktor, over his shoulder, and frowns. “Phichit?” he asks.

Phichit jogs over. “Yes, Your Most Glorious Majesty?”

Yuuri flashes him a glare, which would have looked much more intimidating if he wasn’t visibly trying not to smile. “Phichit are those the boxes I left in our apartment with your name on them?”

Phichit glances back at the same time Viktor does, towards a small pile of boxes on a luggage rack. Several of them do indeed have Phichit’s name written on the sides, and he grins sheepishly. “Yes?”

“Phichit, I left those for _you!”_

“You can’t give me your game systems,” Phichit protests, “you already gave me your _car!”_

“We’ve discussed the car thing, and I already have new systems! I wanted to kick your _ass_ over – “ At this point Yuuri looks around with wide eyes. Mari’s staring at him with a huge grin her face, while Hiroko just looks bemused. The few bodyguards and members of the palace staff that are in the room have discreetly turned away, seemingly fascinated with looking anywhere but at Yuuri, and Phichit barely stifles a snort.

Hana steps in. “You were saying, Your Majesty?” Her voice betrays her amusement, and Yuuri blushes.

“I was _saying,_ Mr. Chulanont, that I wish to challenge you in combat over multiplayer video games, and subsequently _win.”_

Phichit stands proud, glancing between Yuuri’s face and the ground, before raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to throw a glove or something?” Confused, Yuuri frowns. “For the duel,” Phichit says with a surprisingly straight face.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Yuuri mutters under his breath. “My point is, what am I gonna do with duplicate game systems?” He waves an attendant over. “Do you see those boxes on the cart with Mr. Chulanont’s name on them?” he asks.

“Yes, Sire, I do,” he responds.

“Those boxes are to be held in storage here, and sent back to the United States with Mr. Chulanont upon his return.”

Merely giving a bow, the attendant rushes over to the hangar workers to explain while Yuuri grins smugly at Phichit.

“Yuuri, you can’t just – “

“I can and I will,” Yuuri says.

“But the car – “

“I don’t need an American car here. I _have_ cars. And people to drive them for me if I want.”

“Yuuri, all this after my costume – “

“That was _years_ ago.”

“You flew us to _Thailand,_ Yuuri!”

Hiroko clears her throat and flashes Yuuri a gentle look. Sheepish, he scratches the back of his neck as he looks to the side. “Phichit,” he says quietly, “you… you need to use…”

“Title?” Phichit asks. Yuuri nods.

“This is going to be so _weird,”_ Phichit says, “I’d just barely gotten the hang of ‘Your Highness.’ This counts as public?”

“When we’re in front of people, yes. When we’re alone it’ll be different.”

Viktor smiles as Makkachin jumps up, resting his paws on Viktor’s chest. Obliging his dog, he scratches vigorously behind Makka’s ears and under his chin. He returns the smile Yuuri flashes him, before gently pushing Makka to the ground and walking over.

“May I kiss you, Velichestvo?” He asks softly.

Yuuri looks around before smiling. He rocks forward on his toes, and Viktor feels the softness of his lips as he lays a gentle kiss on his mouth.

Phichit stands to the side, bemused, before a huge smile splits his face. He lets out a snort, and then a giggle, and when Viktor and Yuuri look over he’s inexplicably doubled over with laughter, using a grinning Mari for support as he tries to catch his breath. Yuuri raises one eyebrow, one side of his mouth twitching up, before he grins.

“What’s so funny, Phichit?”

“It’s just,” Phichit says, gasping, “I never thought…” He throws his head back, grabbing his stomach, absolutely howling.

“Your Hi-Majesty,” he says after another minute of trying to compose himself. “It’s – “ he gestures between Yuuri and Viktor. “You’re literally the _King_ and the-the _Skater!”_ he exclaims before losing it once more. Yuuri's bodyguard snorts.

Yuuri screws up his face for a second, cheeks puffing out unceremoniously, before he, too, is almost doubled over in laughter, hand gripping the crown he's wearing in an attempt to keep it on his head. Straightening, he wraps his arms around Viktor, giggling into his torso. The mirth is infectious, spreading through the room until everyone wears a smile.

The drive to the palace is short, and they take a private entrance through the back, stopping near the rear stairs. Makkachin is thoroughly excited to sniff around, trying to pull Viktor from bush to bush in an attempt to explore. Viktor stays next to Phichit, though, a step behind Yuuri as propriety demands in public. With tourists on the grounds, they are very much in public. It’s a quick walk to the residential area, and once they’ve arrived Yuuri falls into step next to them. He smiles up at Viktor, gently taking his hand as they walk.

“So this counts as ‘in private,’ right?” Phichit asks.

Yuuri glances around. “To an extent,” he replies. “You can be more casual, but not completely.”

“Well, then, Your Majesty,” Phichit says as he throws his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, “I—” He stops as nearby guards put their hands on their weapons, moving forward.

Glancing around, Yuuri holds up his hand. “He’s fine,” he says sternly. “Leave him be.” Shrugging out of Phichit’s embrace, he gives a barely-audible sigh.

“Sorry,” Phichit says, “I didn't know.”

“It’s alright,” Yuuri says as they make their way to his rooms. “Just save it until we’re actually in private.”

Phichit nods. “Anyway, you mentioned secret passages?”

Yuuri grins. “That I did.” Glancing around, Yuuri nods. “Kaa-san, Mari,” he says. They turn around. “We'll meet you guys for dinner, yes?”

Hiroko smiles. “Of course, Yuuri-kun. Dinner will be served in an hour.”

Yuuri nods as they take a sharp left. They end up in an alcove, and Yuuri grins before working a hidden mechanism. A narrow door opens into a dark room, Yuuri turning on the flashlight on his phone. The door closes behind them and Makka sniffs at the walls and floor until he sneezes several times in quick succession. Yuuri laughs.

“A bit dusty, eh, Makka?”

Makka sneezes once more in response, causing all of them to chuckle. Yuuri starts walking slowly. “I used to hide in here all the time,” he says happily. “My memory’s a bit fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure I can get us to Vitya’s room from here.”

“Pretty sure?” Phichit grins. Yuuri merely sticks his tongue out in response, turning down another passage.

“I explored the passages as soon as I knew how to access them, and sometimes I used to bring a flashlight in and read with Vicchan when he was a puppy. I only had a few months with him before I had to leave.” Sighing, he turns them down another near-invisible passage. “We were inseparable before that.”

“Vicchan?” Viktor asks. “Isn’t that what your mom calls me?”

“Ah, um, yeah. His name was Victor, and Vicchan’s kind of…” pursing his lips, Yuuri pauses for a second. “Vicchan’s kind of the… Like ‘Vitya’ and ‘Lyosha,’ but for Japanese.”

“I see. Did you name him after me?” he asks cheekily.

Yuuri makes an odd noise before clearing his throat. “I didn’t, actually. I was seven. I, uhh, so he stole my beef jerky once like the first night we had him? I told my mom I was hiding it from him, so when I told her he’d gotten it she laughed, like he’d won some sort of competition, and said ‘To the victor go the spoils’ and it just… stuck. For some reason. I don't know how or why.”

Faintly, Viktor can make out wooden beams in the walls between patterned wallpaper. The designs are difficult to make sense of, but they look vaguely swirly. Another turn, and Viktor sees Yuuri’s grin faintly in the dim light.. “We’re close,” Yuuri says. “Almost there.”

“How do you even _know?”_ Phichit says. “Everything looks the same.”

Yuuri shines his light on the wall, exposing ocean-blue wallpaper with waves of silver. “We have them wallpapered differently. That way, if you know the passages, you can tell roughly where you are. If you don’t, there’s no signage to follow. Very few people outside of my family and our closest staff are allowed in here.” Yuuri sighs. “It used to be how staff got around, back when, you know, they weren’t supposed to be _seen,_ but now they’re more a security measure than anything else.”

“When did _that_ change?” Phichit says from just in front of Viktor.

“Uhh, around when my father took the throne,” Yuuri replies hesitantly.

“When was _that,_ again?” Phichit asks.

“I, um, I was four,” Yuuri replies.

“Wait,” Phichit says, bringing everyone to a stop. “So when _you_ were a kid staff was—”

“I _know_ how it sounds, Phichit,” Yuuri interrupts. “I'm not—”

“I know you're not _like that,”_ Phichit retorts, earning a frustrated noise in response.

“I was _going_ to say I'm not unaware of how people see Royalty and shit like that but I guess if I'm 'like that’ enough to just immediately try to make myself look better—”

“That’s not what I meant, Yu-Your…” Phichit trails off and there’s long, tense moment of silence.

Sighing, Yuuri crosses his arms, the light from his phone pointing at the floor. “This is why I didn't talk about it a lot,” he says, quiet. “I know how people see royalty in general, and my family is… very traditional, and _very_ royal. The whole of the upper class are old-fashioned in this country so it just gets weird.”

“I was trying to reassure, I'm sorry,” Phichit says.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat. I know it’s pretty fucked up. I don’t like it either.”

Phichit hums in agreement. “It’s just so recent, is all,” he says. “It feels like that kind of attitude would have been a while ago.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says quietly as he continues, turning them down another corridor. “It’s… strange. I don’t remember much about when my grandpa died, but the palace halls suddenly being filled with staff… that’s not something easily forgotten.” He stops. “This _should_ be it,” he says, running his hand up and down the wall. Viktor hears a huff of breath as Yuuri feels his way up and down the entire section. Yuuri stands abruptly, walks a few feet down the hall, and starts feeling again. There’s a hissed “yes” as Viktor hears the click of a mechanism, and the door opens into his bedroom.

Yuuri grins as they enter the room, closing the door behind him. Makkachin’s leash is unclipped, and he runs around, sniffing at everything he can get his nose near.

“Yuuri?” Viktor says with a smile.

“Yes, Vitya?”

“How did you know exactly where my room was?”

Yuuri looks at him, before sighing softly. “It was my childhood bedroom,” he says, “so most of my adventures in the walls started or ended here.”

“You had a bedroom this big when you were a kid?” Phichit’s looking around, mouth slightly agape as he takes in the surroundings.

“There’s a sitting room, too!” Viktor chimes in. “With a fireplace!”

“A _sitting room?!”_

Yuuri blushes. “I took a lot of my meals in here,” he says, “when my parents were busy. We needed the table for that, and space for the table. It kept the toys out of my bedroom, too, so I wouldn’t get out of bed and play with them. My governess slept next door, and she had ears like a bat’s.”

Viktor takes the liberty of imagining a tiny Yuuri sneaking around the room. He wonders how it looked all those years ago, what sort of toys and books Yuuri kept on the shelves. They’re mostly bare now, decorative trinkets taking up the center and flanked by flashy books in Japanese. Phichit walks around, looking at the decor.

“Holy shit, Y-Your…” he draws out the word in a tentative question, and Yuuri smiles in response.

“In bedrooms with the door shut counts as Totally and Completely Private,” Yuuri says.

“Holy _shit,_ Yuuri.”

“It’s a _palace,_ Phichit, I don’t know what you expected.”

“Not fucking _this,”_ Phichit replies. “No wonder you’re such a disaster.”

“I’m not a _disaster,”_ Yuuri retorts.

“At being a normal person you are,” Phichit says.

“He seemed pretty normal to me,” Viktor chimes in, kissing the top of Yuuri’s head while Makka noses at one of the desk drawers.

“Viktor, he tried to clean our bathroom with _dish soap,”_ Phichit says, exasperated.

“Wow.” Yuuri blushes.

“It cleans dishes just fine,” he mutters. “How was I supposed to know it didn’t work on bathrooms?”

“Because it says ‘Dish Soap’ on the label, Yuuri,” Phichit replies.

“‘Soap’ is part of that!!”

Chuckling, Viktor kisses Yuuri’s forehead. “Did you learn how to clean a bathroom, Lyubov?”

“Took him two hours with me teaching him, but he did.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Phichit, I should show you to your room. Your luggage should be there already.”

 

Yuuri leads them through a door just down the hall and around a corner from Viktor’s. “So this is yours, Phichit,” he says. “I um, I made sure you have a window, you have a balcony too, and I checked the bed and it’s not facing north.”

Phichit grins at Yuuri before running into the bedroom.

“Facing north?” Viktor asks curiously.

“Uhh, it’s a cultural thing,” Yuuri says. “He won’t sleep with his head to the north because Hinduism? Something to do with Ganesh, I don’t really understand it, but it’s important to him, so it’s important to me.”

“Awww, Yuuri,” Phichit says from the doorway as he walks back in, “you really _do_ care.”

Yuuri fixes him with something between a glare and a pout with a bit of a smile for good measure. “If you decide to get figurines or set up a shrine, that’s fine, just let me know.”

“I’m not going to be here _that long,_ Yuuri, I still have to train for Thai Nationals.”

“You’re literally the best ice skater in Thailand, shouldn’t you win by default?”

“Heck no, if there’s someone better than me they ought to win. I just need to prove there _isn’t.”_ Phichit grins. “But seriously, the window’s fine.” Hugging Yuuri, Phichit buries his face in his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Yuuri returns the hug. “Any time. We should get to the dining room; my mom’s making katsudon tonight!”

“I finally get to try your mother’s katsudon?” Phichit grins.

“Yep.” Yuuri hands his crown to Viktor so he can brush off his knees, small clouds of dust erupting as he hits the fabric. Taking the crown back, he moves over to the mirror, setting it back on his head before straightening further. For a long second, he stares at his reflection, before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and turning towards them with a smile.

“So, dinner?”

 

When they arrive there's an even larger table set up than before, clearly meant to accommodate a large group of people. Yuuri and Viktor sit together, Phichit just around the corner from Yuuri. Mari, Minako, and Hana file in together after a bit, and it’s only a few minutes more before the food’s brought in. The conversation is light, Phichit getting along easily with everyone, but Yuuri only looks more and more thoughtful as the meal progresses.

“Hana-neechan,” Yuuri says eventually, setting his chopsticks down.

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for all you’ve done over the last fifteen years.” His voice is quiet, sincere, and he looks at her with a grateful smile. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone better, truly.”

“It was my honor to be of service.” It sounds forced almost, though the sentiment is genuine.

Yuuri purses his lips, before looking around the table. “I’d like to drop the formalities,” he says.

“All formalities?” Mari asks, taking a bite of katsudon.

“For me, yes,” Yuuri replies. “All of them. Please.”

Everyone nods, though Mari looks at him with a pensive expression.

“Anyways,” Yuuri says, “Hana-nee, I just… you kept me safe. You kept me alive, and you dealt with my shit and… I’m sorry, again, for the trouble.”

“Trouble?” Mari glances between Yuuri and Hana, before Minako leans forward.

“There were a few ups and downs,” she says, “but that was to be expected.”

Hana reaches her hand out, taking Yuuri’s and squeezing it. “We got through, Yuuri-kun,” she says.

He nods. “Anyway, if you were to want to retire, the Crown would see fit to make sure it would be comfortably.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I'm not sure exactly what I'd want to do, but I'm not ready to just… retire.”

“At least take a vacation while you figure it out,” he urges. “You deserve it.”

“Hmm,” she says, eyes twinkling, “but what if I don't _want_ to?”

“Hana-nee,” Yuuri whines, “come on, I'm trying to—”

She laughs, ruffling his hair. “I'm only joking, Yuuri-kun. Vacation time sounds nice. On one condition.”

“What?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

“You promise me you’ll take some time for yourself.” Mari gasps, looking at Yuuri for his reaction. “I know how you get, Yuuri-kun,” Hana continues, “and when you push yourself too hard it doesn’t end well. You need to remember to take a day for yourself once in a while.”

Thank god someone said it.

In response, Yuuri nods, if a bit reluctantly. “Deal,” he says. “I’ll ask your vacation time be paid as well.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is, though,” he says. “You were on full-time duty for fifteen years, Hana-nee, you deserve a paid vacation and you know it.”

She just raises an eyebrow. “If you insist,” she replies.

“I do.” With a nod, Yuuri sits back on his heels. Mari looks between him and Hana a few times.

“Yuuri,” she says.

“What?” Picking up a piece of pork with his chopsticks, Yuuri looks it over before putting it in his mouth.

“You’re genuinely ok with her talking to you like that?”

“Is that a _problem?”_ he asks after he swallows his bite. “Mari-nee, she raised me for fifteen _years._ We _lived_ together for most of that. Of _course_ she talks to me casually. She used my title, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“She’s not having much trouble calling you by _name.”_ Glancing over at Hana, Mari looks back at her younger brother.

Hana shifts uncomfortably, watching the siblings.

Yuuri sets his chopsticks down. “Sometimes,” he says, “I _needed_ to be called by name. I _needed_ to be talked to familiarly. I needed to be treated like a _kid,_ because I _was._ There sure as hell wasn’t anyone else in my life that would do that. Not anyone I could be _myself_ with. If I have a problem with how Hana- _neechan_ talks to me, I’ll tell her myself. She was all I had for most of my life, Mari-nee. You can’t expect her to just act like everyone else.”

Mari sighs. “I should have realized, I’m sorry.” Looking at Hana, she gives a long nod. “I appreciate you taking care of my little brother, and I hope you will forgive my tone.” It’s clear she’s not used to apologizing like this, but she does so with grace.

“It’s fine, Your Highness,” Hana replies. “I understand things are tense, and I understand my relationship with your brother may be… difficult to get used to. Especially as he and I adapt to being home.”

It’s clear from the way Yuuri’s looking at his sister, he _expects_ her to get used to it. He masks the look quickly, though, before Mari sees.

“This is a time of transition,” Hiroko says, pulling everyone’s attention to her. “We all need to be a little gentle with each other until things settle down.” Her eyes scan across the room, coming to rest for just a moment longer on each of her children. Yuuri nods, and nods again as he meets Mari’s eyes. Phichit sits quietly next to Yuuri, eating slowly as he watches the exchange, but Viktor sees him shift his knee so it touches Yuuri’s, silently offering support. Viktor does the same, and Yuuri seems to settle a bit, shoulders relaxing.

“Hana-san.” Smiling, Hiroko eases them into friendly waters. “How was your time in the United States?” she asks.

Hana looks at Minako first, and then shares a glance with Yuuri. “Overall, it was alright,” she says. “Hectic, at times, but alright.”

Yuuri takes a bite, staring at his bowl.

“Hectic?” Mari asks. “What all happened? Were you attacked at all?”

“I’d have come straight home if I was attacked,” Yuuri says. “My cover would have been completely blown, at that point it’d have been easier to come back and ramp up security than to try to hide me again.”

Hana nods. “We weren’t attacked, but we did end up needing to move a few times. We settled in Michigan, though, and that’s where we spent most of our time abroad.”

“Where in Michigan?” Hiroko asks. “Before Detroit.”

Leaning across the table, Yuuri pulls out his right hand to use as reference, similarly to when Viktor had first talked to him outside of the café. “We were here,” he says, pointing at the first joint on his index finger. “That’s Alpena, where I went to high school. Speaking of… Hana-nee, Minako-sensei, did either of you bring my graduation picture with you?” he looks over at them.

Minako smiles. “I brought one back just after you graduated,” she says. “I may have ‘accidentally’ left a photo album here when I visited that summer.”

Yuuri looks over at his mother, eyebrows raised in a silent question and he beams when she nods her confirmation. “I graduated with honors, you know,” he says, puffing out his chest just a bit.

“I heard,” Hiroko says, mirroring Yuuri’s grin. “Your father and I were so incredibly proud.” A moment of silence comes over the table, as Yuuri takes a second to process his emotions, but he nods.

“Thank you,” he replies.

“I wish we could have been there,” she says gently as she takes Yuuri’s hand. “We missed so much.”

“I know.” His response quiet, Yuuri moves to finish his meal. Phichit dominates the conversation, telling the royal family about his time as Yuuri’s roommate. He has the family in stitches describing their antics in the rink, the practical jokes they played on Celestino. Yuuri smiles as well, adding bits of stories that Phichit either forgot or was unaware of. Hana chimes in with stories of their time together, both before and after Yuuri moved out, and Hiroko and Mari seem to hang on every word.

Viktor can relate, some, and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been surprised by how his family has grown while he’s been out of touch, especially Katya. Before Russian Nationals, the last time he’d seen her she’d barely been learning to read, practicing her letters on the back pages of programs for the few competitions she’d gone to as a child. He’d had the opportunity, though, to spend time with his family and Yuuri hadn’t. That voice in the back of his mind makes itself known again, whispering, questioning if he deserves to have a loving family like he does if this is just how he’s going to act.

He smiles, kisses Yuuri’s cheek, and listens.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes to a hand on his shoulder. Light spills into his bedroom from the open door, and he can barely make out the familiar mop of black hair before Yuuri whispers.

“Vitya. Vitya we got food.”

Rubbing his eyes blearily, Viktor sits up, blanket sliding down his bare chest. _“What do you mean, food?”_ he mumbles.

There’s a brief pause.

“Vitya, English?”

“What do you mean ‘we got food’?” he asks again.

“Phichit and I, we went out and got food. Meet me in your sitting room?”

Viktor nods as he rubs his eyes. Yuuri closes the door behind him as Viktor turns on his bedside lamp. Makka gives him a look as he crawls out of bed, and he scratches him behind the ears. He pulls on a t-shirt and his robe, shoving his feet into his slippers before making his way to the sitting area. When he gets to the table, he’s met with the sight of a stack of takeout containers, paper plates, and plastic cutlery. Yuuri's pulling bottles of soda and napkins out of a thin plastic bag. It’s jarringly out-of-place in the gilded surroundings, but the juxtaposition brings a smile to his face as he sniffs the air.

“It smells like tacos in here,” he says.

“That’s because it _is_ tacos,” Phichit responds excitedly. “We found a place that serves really good Mexican food.”

“This late at night?” Viktor asks as he yawns.

Yuuri nods. “We got you some,” he says as he serves food onto the flimsy paper plates. “I didn’t know what kind of pop you like, so you can pick first. Phichit and I like all of them, so we don’t care what we get.”

Viktor takes a bottle of clear soda, setting it in front of his chair as he sits down. A plate of tacos is slid into place in front of him. Still sleepy, he stares at them for a second before remembering how to eat.

“So how—” Viktor yawns, “how did they react when you walked in, Yuuri?”

“Uhh, I was wearing glasses and a beanie, so, they don’t know.” He smiles, before taking a huge bite of food.

“They almost figured it out, though,” Phichit says. “They had his coronation portrait up on the wall and everything.”

“I was dressed down, though,” Yuuri says, “so it _could have been me,_ but also it could just be coincidence. I think they went with coincidence.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit says around a bite of taco. “Yuuri, I have a question. If you get married to Viktor, he’ll be King-Consort, right? And he’ll be called ‘Your Majesty?’” Yuuri blushes, nodding. “And you, because you’re king, can give people titles. Right?”

“Well, within reason,” Yuuri starts, “it actually depends on – “

“That’s not a ‘no,’” Phichit interrupts. “So you _can_ give people titles.”

“Within certain circumstances, yes,” Yuuri replies.

“So what would mine be?”

“What?” Blinking behind his glasses, Yuuri looks confused.

“If you gave me a title, what would it be?” Phichit leans across the table, taking a long drink of his soda.

“Well, assuming we’re talking entirely theoretically,” Yuuri says, “I would make you a prince, but your honorific wouldn’t be ‘Your Highness.’”

Phichit narrow his eyes, looking at Yuuri like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Yuuri takes a sip of his soda before looking Phichit dead in the eye. “It would be ‘Your _Bi_ -ness.’”

There’s a brief moment of confusion wherein Phichit blinks a few times, before he snorts and starts laughing, Yuuri quickly joining him and for a shining moment, everything feels right.

 

~*~

 

The next day finds Phichit and Viktor at the rink, accompanied by Yulian, as usual. Viktor glances at Yulian constantly during he drive over, and it’s clear after a while that Phichit hasn’t missed his discomfort. They don’t get a chance to talk until they’re in the privacy of the locker room.

“Does he follow you _everywhere?”_

“Yes,” Viktor replies, irritated. “I can't leave the grounds without him, or one of the others they bring in on his days off.” He yanks at his skate laces.

“Haven't you had security before?” Phichit pulls on his own skates, tying them as they talk. “Why is this different?”

“It doesn't _feel_ the same.”

“Huh. Have you tried telling Yuuri?”

“He told me at the start it would be weird.”

Phichit frowns. “Well, it may just be that he’s used to it, you know? He may have underestimated how long it took to _get_ used to them.”

He makes a good point. Viktor sighs, resigning himself to discomfort for the foreseeable future. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll bring it up again at some point.” They grab their gloves and head in to practice.

It's become easier to ignore being watched, but there’s still an undercurrent of tension he can’t shake. It’s early evening when they finish, and the ride back to the palace is brief, but Viktor’s still unable to disregard that innate feeling of _wrongness_ wrapped around the base of his neck. Phichit glances at him repeatedly, out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t say anything.

When they arrive at the palace, they head straight to Yuuri’s office. Viktor’s glad to be out from under Yulian’s watchful eyes, and is looking forward to seeing Yuuri. He should be done for the day, though he’s likely still reading through the mountain of legislation ever-present on his desk. Phichit stops when they pass the hall to his room, looking back.

“I’ll catch up with you later, I just showered,” he says, as if that’s supposed to mean something. Viktor raises an eyebrow. “I normally pray after I shower,” he clarifies.

“Ah. We’ll see you when you're done?”

Phichit nods, smiling. “I’ll text!” he says, before vanishing down the hall.

Viktor continues to Yuuri’s office, the route becoming familiar after his time at the palace. The door is cracked when he gets there, and he opens it further as he peeks in. Yuuri’s at his desk, reading, but Makka bounds over from the corner happily, jumping up on Viktor. The resulting laugh pulls Yuuri’s attention from the papers in front of him, and he smiles, standing up.

After closing the door, Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor, leaning up for a kiss. “How was practice?” he asks.

“Good,” Viktor says, “for the most part.”

“What happened?” Yuuri leads Viktor into the sitting room, closing the door behind them. “Is there an issue with the rink?”

“No.”

“The Nishigoris?”

“No.”

Yuuri frowns. “Vitya, is there an issue with your bodyguards? Yulian specifically?”

“Not with _them,”_ Viktor says, frustrated, “they haven’t done anything.”

“But does it have something to _do_ with them?”

“No. Yes? I don’t _know,_ Yuuri. They make me uncomfortable.” He scratches the back of his head. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly what’s bothering him, but whatever it is is almost impossible to ignore.

“I can have a discussion about privacy with them, if you feel like they’re being too invasive.”

“They’re not being invasive,” Viktor replies. “They’re just doing their jobs.” He’s _had_ invasive bodyguards before, for one event or another, and the team Yuuri’s gotten are nothing if not professional. They keep established boundaries, they interfere very little, and there’s really no reason to say they’re anything but exemplary.

“Then I don’t see what the issue is. If it’s not privacy, then what is it?”

“It's - it's _having_ them that's the issue!” It’s the fact that he can’t even _think_ about them without feeling a prickling on the back of his neck.

“You've had security details before, Vitya. I don't see why it's a huge deal _now!_ It's not like they're controlling your movements or anything.” Yuuri’s gesturing wildly now, in a way he hasn’t seen since Detroit and a sort of grief settles in him as his frustration builds.

“That’s not the _problem!”_ The lack of control… that has _something_ to do with what Viktor’s feeling but it’s not the _root_ of the issues.

“Then what _is?_ What is it that's got you so upset?”

Viktor turns away, trying to put everything into words and failing miserably. “They're just… _there.”_

“So tell them to keep a bit more distance when they can. Ask them to blend in more.”

“I _have,”_ Viktor responds. He turns around. Yuuri’s massaging his temples, crown set aside. “It doesn’t _help,_ Yuuri. They’re always watching, always _there_ and it just…”

“Vitya, I don’t know what to tell you.” Exasperated, Yuuri rubs his temples. “That’s what happens when you have bodyguards with you. You’re constantly watched. You haven't had issues with having guards at the palace so far, and it's the same lack of privacy!”

“The palace is different!”

“It _isn’t,_ though!” Yuuri’s standing now, leaning on his desk with one hand. He looks frustrated too, as if the feels like there’s something Viktor’s just too oblivious to see but should be able to.

“Yuuri, they’re _guarding_ me!”

“Vitya,” Yuuri sighs, and regardless of how it was meant it sounds condescending. “That’s the entire point of you having bodyguards. They’re there to keep you _safe.”_

“I _know_ that!” Blinking back angry tears, Viktor runs his fingers through his hair. Everything about this feels wrong, has _felt_ wrong, and Yuuri’s making it seem like Viktor’s making a big deal of nothing. Like he can’t understand the feeling of being constantly _watched,_ being hovered over no matter what he does. The irrational fear Viktor feels when he remembers that _he has bodyguards._ Yuuri _should_ understand, he’s as frustrated by their presence as Viktor is sometimes.

There’s a gentle, patterned knock on the door, before Hiroko comes in. Yuuri sighs. “Are we disturbing people?”

“You’re fine, Yuuri-kun. I have some input, if you boys would sit down.”

Yuuri crosses his arms, sitting in an armchair. Viktor takes the one opposite him, and Hiroko sits on the couch between them. “I don’t know what sort of input, Vitya and I have been arguing in circles.”

“Some perspective, then,” she says. “You two are seeing things in a fundamentally different way. The way you two understand the world doesn’t mesh, not completely, and I don’t think either of you have had to put words to it before.” Yuuri crosses his legs under him.

“Kaa-san, after fifteen years, I think I have some perspective.”

“Not like this, Yuuri-kun. Vicchan,” she says kindly, looking at Viktor, “would you agree if I said it’s less about the fact that you’re being _guarded,_ so much as it is about the fact that it’s _you_ being guarded?” They must have been pretty loud.

Opening his mouth, Viktor leans forward to explain before closing it. He frowns. “It… sounds right,” he says, “it’s just hard to explain.”

She smiles. “It’s a different feeling,” she says, “when your bodyguards are there for your personal _safety,_ rather than to keep things running smoothly for you. Especially when it’s constant. Vicchan, what have your experiences with security detail been like before? What function did they perform?”

“Mostly escorting. Keeping me from being hounded by fans and the press, making sure I was able to get into my hotel rooms and the competition venue as needed, like in Ostrava. Occasionally I had to have them with me while sightseeing, but that was only a couple of times.”

“They made it so you could do what you needed to do without much trouble,” she says. Viktor nods. Hiroko continues, “And when you weren’t at risk of being hounded you didn’t have them.” He nods again.

“It’s never been about making sure I personally was kept safe,” he says softly. “It was about _where_ I was, rather than only _who_ I was.”

Yuuri just stares blankly. Viktor moves forward to make his point before Hiroko holds up a hand. “Yuuri-kun. Most people aren’t used to the feeling of needing to be protected. That feeling of imminent danger, like any second your bodyguards are going to have to jump in for something. Just the knowledge that you’re _in_ that sort of position can be intimidating.”

“Why would the palace be any better, though?” Yuuri asks. “There are guards everywhere here, they’re all over the place, watching everything.”

“Because it’s not focused on Vicchan. There’s a very strong difference between the feeling of having a lot of police around, and having a police escort for you personally. It’s a much heavier weight.”

Yuuri frowns, and Hiroko looks back at Viktor. “Vicchan,” she says, “What you need to understand is that Yuuri-kun hasn’t _had_ a time in his life where he hasn’t had guards. Even in the U.S., he lived with a bodyguard who then accompanied him in public until he moved out.”

“And even _after_ I did,” Yuuri mutters.

Hiroko sighs. “Vicchan, That feeling of being guarded, needing to be protected, is something he’s grown up with. To him, it’s as normal as breathing.” She looks at Yuuri. “Is it safe to say you thought his problem only had to do with the lack of privacy?”

Yuuri nods.

“You two see the world very differently, in some respects. Vicchan, it honestly wouldn’t have occured to Yuuri to think that bodyguards would ever be anything other than reassuring, outside of the issues with privacy. Yuuri-kun, you need to try to remember that Vicchan has never been someone who needed full-time protection like this. That the feeling of constantly being under threat is hard to adapt to. I _still_ have trouble,” she says smiling, “And I married your father over thirty years ago.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen in understanding, before he nods.

“Hiroko-san,” Viktor says, “I'm not sure I understand.”

“I wasn’t born into this, Vicchan,” she says. “I was about as low on the social scale as you could go and still be considered nobility. I had a title, yes, but I was nowhere near royal. My experiences with security details were very similar to your own, more about the situation than who I was. When I started dating my late husband, it was a period of huge adjustment. I went from relative unimportance to being with the second most powerful man in the nation at the time. It took some work, but I learned to adapt. I have a very intimate understanding of the situation in which you find yourself.”

Viktor nods.

“Yuuri,” she says gently, “you have to remember, when it comes to this relationship, that Vicchan isn’t just _dating you._ If you two marry he won’t just become your spouse, he’ll become a _royal,_ and King-Consort at that.”

 _He’ll become a royal._ Somehow, it hasn’t occurred to him before now, that there was more to being with Yuuri, more to being _royal_ than just living at the palace, making appearances, and dealing with the increased social and media pressure and the lack of privacy. Nervously, he glances at Yuuri, who’s staring at his hands in his lap with a contemplative look.

 _“This is what Yuuri meant,”_ Viktor thinks. _This feeling of threat, this scrutiny, the pressure of being part of the highest echelons of society._ The last few weeks have been a mindblowing blur, a haze of trying to adapt to life at the palace, but it’s since become easier. Yuuri’s demeanor no longer unsettles Viktor each time he sees the shift, and while remembering he’s with the most powerful man in the nation still takes him by surprise, it isn’t as jarring as it used to be. He’s adapted well so far. He’ll continue to do so.

The prospect of any other course of action is almost unthinkable.

 

Hiroko takes her leave a minute later, kissing Yuuri’s forehead, before walking over and giving Viktor a fond pat on the cheek and a loving smile. When the door closes behind her, Viktor moves himself to sit on the couch, and after a moment Yuuri joins him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring at the empty fireplace in front of them. “I didn’t realize it would be so… different.”

“It’s alright, Lyubov.”

“This must be awful,” Yuuri whispers.

“No,” Viktor responds. “It’s… it’s not easy but I still mean it when I say there’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side, Yuuri.” Quiet, shaky, Viktor reaches his hand out to his boyfriend, feeling Yuuri’s long fingers clasp it firmly.

“Vitya,” he says, “you need to think about this, really.”

“You think I haven’t been?” Yuuri looks up at him; nervous, apprehensive, he takes a shaky breath as he meets Viktor’s gaze. “Yuuri, almost every night for a month and a half I’ve gone to bed in a palace, I’ve seen you work day-to-day, we’ve gone to appearances together. I’ve even survived Euros _and_ Minako’s lessons.”

Yuuri snorts at that, but shifts so one knee is on the couch and his body is facing Viktor. “There haven’t been any State Events yet, you haven’t—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I’ve been going to galas and banquets and formal events for years. I’ve been to the MET Gala. Several times. I know it’s not quite royal, but it’s… it’s close enough. I’ve gotten an idea, Minako’s been working with me, and I think I can handle this. I’m _sure_ I can handle this, Yuuri. I’ve been a public figure for a decade, now. Technically I’ve done most of this more than _you.”_

“I was _trained_ , Vitya.”

“I have _experience,”_ he replies, “and you really think Lilia didn’t give me some training? Yuuri, I’m adaptable. I can learn rules, manners, new forms of address. I don’t have to get used to fame, I don’t have to get used to a public persona. I have all of that. I’m well-equipped for this.” He cups Yuuri’s cheek, gently stroking Yuuri’s lip with his thumb. “Lyubov moya, please,” he says and it comes out more broken, more scared than he wants it to and he finds himself biting his lower lip, trying to swallow the confusing jumble of emotions his heart has become.

He’s sure of himself, sure of his decision, but he’s afraid. Terrified of losing Yuuri and worried about what this choice will come to mean for them, for _him,_ but a world without Yuuri seems worse, more intimidating and lonely than it had been even when he’d made the choice to stay in Detroit. With wide eyes, he looks up at his boyfriend, taking Yuuri’s hands in his own and rubbing the backs with his thumbs. Yuuri wants this, it’s clear, and he’s trying to make sure Viktor’s ready, but Viktor doesn’t know how else to persuade him that he _is._

“Yuuri,” he says fervently, “the idea of losing you, the idea of going back to how it was… it’s more frightening than the idea of this life being mine.”

“You’re scared of becoming royal?”

Of course that would be Yuuri’s takeaway. Sighing, Viktor shifts as close as he can. “It’s not that, it- it’s daunting, yes. I know it’s going to take work. I know it’s going to be different. But nothing I’ve experienced, even Europeans, has made me even consider changing my mind.”

With a pensive expression Yuuri looks at him. After a long moment, he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Vitya,” he says, unusually vulnerable as his hands tighten around Viktor’s fingers. “Vityusha. If you’re sure…”

“I am,” he says.

“The nobility won’t take kindly to me announcing an engagement right now. Not to you.” It’s not a no. Yuuri looks sad, yet hopeful, his eyes flicker back and forth as he tries to find a solution.

“So don’t.” Yuuri's eyes widen. “Lyubov, they shouldn’t have any say. There’s no legal precedent against this, and it’s none of their business what you do in your personal life. We’re working towards this anyway, are we not?”

There’s a second of silence, and then a smile crawls across Yuuri’s face until he’s beaming at Viktor, eyes sparkling. “You’re sure,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“You want to marry me.” It sounds like Yuuri almost can’t believe it, won’t _let_ himself believe it just yet.

“I do, Lyubov moya,” he murmurs. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?” It’s not how Viktor wanted the proposal to go, but the happiness in Yuuri’s face is wonderful all the same and his heart soars.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers emphatically. _“Yes._ Nothing could make me happier.” Hands reaching out suddenly, Yuuri grabs the front of Viktor’s jacket, pulling him forward and kissing him deeply. Viktor reaches his arms around, wrapping them around Yuuri and pulling him back until Yuuri’s practically in his lap, still kissing him, still holding onto his jacket.

When they break apart Yuuri rests his cheek on Viktor’s chest, drawing circles with his fingers on the opposite shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers after a few minutes.

“I love you too,” Viktor replies.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Yuuri says quietly. “Not my mom, not Mari, not your family. We shouldn’t even talk about it. No one can know you’re my…”

“Fiancé,” Viktor finishes, kissing his forehead. “Of course, Lyubov.”

Yuuri snuggles into him. “I like the sound of ‘fiancé,’” he says softly.

“Me, too,” Viktor replies. “Yuuri?”

“Hm?”

“We can tell Makka, right?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri snorts. “If we do so very quietly. He deserves to know.”

There’s an abrupt sensation of vibrations against Viktor’s leg, and Yuuri lifts his hip, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Phichit’s lost,” he says a second later. “Somehow he ended up in the front entrance, down near the throne room?” Tapping out a quick message, Yuuri kisses Viktor before he sits up. “Let's go fetch him,” he says, standing and holding his hand out. “We're playing video games tonight and I got the kitchen to make healthy snacks. I have tomorrow off so I can just stay up and hang with you guys. I thought it’d be nice.”

Viktor takes his hand, pulling himself to standing, and kisses his nose. “That _sounds_ nice,” he says. “Do you think they’d bring tea up?”

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Yuuri replies. He kisses Viktor, tender and loving and achingly beautiful and Viktor’s heart skips in his chest.

“Mine,” he whispers, meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

“Yours,” is the breathless response, before Yuuri pulls him in for another kiss. “Yours.”

 

~*~

The door to the sitting room opens, pulling Phichit, Mari, and Viktor’s attention before it closes behind Yuuri. After making his way over, Yuuri flops down next to Viktor, setting his crown to the side before leaning on his shoulder. In response, Viktor wraps his arm around him, kissing the top of his head. “Everything going alright, Lyubov?”

“Research sucks.”

“I thought you were mostly done?” Viktor massages his shoulder.

Sighing, Yuuri nods. “I am, but I have to integrate some of the new information I have, and then I need to update my powerpoint and bibliography, then my teacher’s expecting an _annotated_ bibliography for some reason.”

Phichit makes a disgusted noise. “Does he _know_ you have a country to run?”

Yuuri groans. “That’s why he’s not making me turn in a thorough analysis of someone else’s paper and methodology. He likes to see how we’ll peer-review things if it comes down to it. He says since it’s a government class, we need to ‘demonstrate practical knowledge of governmental systems and how accountability is maintained between different departments’ or some bullshit like that?”

Sighing, Yuuri leans his head back against the cushion. “Apparently running a country is an acceptable way to ‘demonstrate practical knowledge’ and honestly, I’m not going to argue. I still think he should have let me just test out of the class, I can explain the inner workings of Akitsushima’s government, and most other systems, feverish and half-asleep. I’ve done it with my bodyguard. Anyway, my paper’s pretty much finished and I’m almost done with the powerpoint, but that doesn’t stop research from sucking.”

“Don’t you have a test next week?” Viktor asks gently.

“Shit.” Massaging his temple with one hand, Yuuri pulls out his phone. “I’ll need to have them clear that block of time in my schedule if I haven't already, maybe cancel the meeting right before.”

Mari leans forward, chiming in for the first time. “Yuuri, you don’t _need_ your degree. Why are you working so hard?”

Yuuri looks at her. He raises an eyebrow, letting out a sigh. “Mari, I’m not taking _another_ extra year to finish my degree, and there’s no way I’m going to quit when I’ve gotten this far.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, sitting back, “I just don’t understand why you’d put so much pressure on yourself while you were essentially on vacation.”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri says. Smile gone, his voice is frozen anger, his expression full of daggers as he sits up straight. Viktor and Phichit go still, watching the siblings as the temperature in the room plummets.

“While you were in the—”

“United States, yes, I know what you were referring to, Mari. My issue is the way to which it was referred.” He’s wearing his court voice, fixing Mari with a steel glare. “You think I was having fun?”

“Yuuri, I know it wasn’t the most _ideal_ situation, but—”

“Ideal? _Ideal?!_ Of course it wasn’t _ideal,_ Mari! It was one of the worst decisions our parents ever made!”

“Yuuri, we were trying to keep you safe!”

“Look at it from my perspective! Someone tries to murder me at seven fucking years old. I watch my bodyguard die in front of me from a cookie _I literally handed to her,_ one that was _meant for me,_ only to be—” he takes a deep breath, clenching his fists on his knees. “You guys sent me out of the country and practically left me to fend for myself. No family, no support beyond a fucking bodyguard for the first few years in an entirely unfamiliar country.”

“Yuuri, we—”

“No.” Yuuri sits up straight. “Hear me out, before you say anything.” Mari nods, folding her hands in her lap. “Mari-neechan, I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew I had to act ‘normal’ to survive, but I didn’t know _how!_ I had to learn on the fly and I was eight years old, scared, and I couldn’t even call you guys. I didn’t hear your voices again until I was almost _thirteen,_ Mari. Five years!”

“We had to make sure it was _safe!_ They could have tracked the calls! Yuuri, you – “

“Let me finish!” Yuuri shouts, and tears run down his face. “I’ve been sitting on this for fifteen years, you’re _going_ to hear me out! This wasn’t a fucking _vacation,_ I was running for my life. I was terrified, I was practically alone, and I couldn’t talk to _anyone_ other than my bodyguard! I was _sixteen_ when Minako-sensei came out. Almost seventeen when I got a _therapist._ Do you know how it feels to have to lie every second of the day? To examine every detail of every story you want to tell for _years_ to make sure it doesn’t give anything away?!” He rubs his cheeks, making sure to avoid messing with his contacts. “I pretty much wasn’t allowed _friends,_ Mari, not when I knew I could be moving in a year, maybe two. Between that and the constant change of identity, I didn’t even know who I _was_ by the time I hit high school.”

“I’m _sorry,_ Yuuri, we didn’t know how bad it was.”

“Mari, do you know how it felt to have to – “ he looks at Viktor, biting his lower lip before looking back. “Do you know how _awful_ it felt to have to look my – my fucking _boyfriend,_ the love of my _fucking life,_ in the eye and lie out my teeth about even the most innocuous things? And then, _and then,_ I had to plan to come _back,_ to likely _rule_ a country I hadn’t set foot in in well over a _decade,_ and lie every step of the way? I dragged him here under false pretenses, and he found out at the last. Possible. Moment. Because the security team couldn’t be bothered to actually do their jobs.”

“Background checks take ti – “

“Time! Yes! I’m well aware of that,” Yuuri says angrily. “So explain to me why Phichit’s was done in a week and Viktor’s took months.” He crosses his arms, leaning back on the couch.

“I don’t know, Yuuri!” Mari’s face is red, her eyes glistening as she pulls out a cigarette. She lights it with shaking hands, taking a long draw. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so flippant, I didn’t think about how it must have felt. I didn’t realize how awful it must have been.” Her voice is thick, hands still trembling as she looks at her brother.

Yuuri nods, biting his lower lip. He opens his mouth to say something, but freezes as a door clicks closed behind him. Hiroko makes her way across the room, face filled with sadness. When he sees her, Yuuri's expression crumbles. “Okaa-san, I—”

Suddenly quiet as Hiroko sits next to him, he swallows thickly before opening his mouth again, closing it when she takes his hands in her own. She doesn’t speak, but the tears in her eyes say enough. She’d heard everything.

Phichit shifts uncomfortably. “Yuuri?” he asks softly.

Yuuri looks over. “Y-yeah?”

“Viktor and I…should we let you guys talk?”

“That might be best,” Mari says from the armchair.

When Yuuri nods his agreement, Viktor and Phichit stand. Phichit walks over to the door, while Viktor walks over to Yuuri, kissing him gently on the lips. “I’m going to take Makka out, Lyubov, and then I’ll be with Phichit. Let us know when you’re ready for us?”

Yuuri nods, kissing him again with a wan smile before they head out.

“Wow,” Viktor says when they’re down the hall.

“He’s been sitting on that for years, I’m surprised it took this long.” Phichit shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk. Makka follows diligently, and they stop in Phichit’s room, then Viktor’s, for their jackets. Together, they head into the gardens, wandering for a while while Makkachin explores.

 

They’re back in Viktor’s rooms by the time Yuuri’s done, and when he shows up his eyes are red and puffy behind his glasses. After closing the door behind him, he gravitates towards Viktor, falling into his arms and burying his face in his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it, Lyubov?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“We can play a game,” Phichit says. “Don’t you have Mario Kart?”

Yuuri nods. Phichit gets the game set up, Viktor makes a pot of tea, and Yuuri curls up in a blanket on the couch. Even as they start playing, Viktor can tell Yuuri’s not doing well. His driving is erratic, and even Viktor manages to beat him several times in a row. After the second time Yuuri comes in dead last, Phichit pauses the game.

“Do I need to find The King and the Skater?”

Lip trembling, Yuuri scowls at the blanket he’s wrapped in. “I don’t need a fucking movie right now,” he bites.

“Well, Mario Kart is clearly not doing its job, and you don’t want to talk.” Yuuri curls further in on himself. “When’s your next therapy appointment?”

“In a few days,” Yuuri replies. “I _like_ Mario Kart.”

Phichit and Viktor look at each other. Yuuri’s obviously not ok, obviously doing his best to cling to whatever distractions are available and it’s not immediately clear whether they should urge him to talk about it or encourage the bottling-up he’s been doing.

“Do you want me to call Hana?” Yuuri looks up, as if only now remembering that would be an option. Phichit slouches so he’s at eye level. “It’s ok if you want me to call Hana. You can need me to call Hana, you know.”

“I get it,” Yuuri says. “No. I just. I need to stop panicking. I need to not talk about anything, or think about anything, or _do_ anything.” He rests his chin on his knees, eyes starting to glisten as he stares at the television.

Viktor looks at him. “Do you need me to get your pills, Lyubov?”

“Please.” Standing, Viktor goes into the bedroom, and then the bathroom, easily finding the bottle of pills on the counter. He gives them to Phichit as he grabs water for Yuuri, setting the kettle to boil while he’s at it. Water in hand, Yuuri takes his meds and drains the rest of the bottle, replacing the cap before expertly throwing it into the trash can. He smiles, Phichit helps Yuuri figure out what sort of distraction he wants; video games are fine but he’d rather not play, and by the time Viktor walks over with tea two-player Mario Kart is on the screen. Yuuri leans on him when he sits down, whispering a thank-you for the tea.

“So what’s happening,” Phichit says, “is you’re going to race with me, and Yuuri’s gonna tell you when to use your items. Honestly, Vitya, there’s a _strategy_ to item usage.”

He looks down at Yuuri, who nods in confirmation as he blows across the top of the mug. When Viktor chooses his character and car, Yuuri gives input so it’ll better suit Viktor’s driving style, and before long he’s doing his best to race against Phichit. It’s fast, high-paced (even though Yuuri assures him it’s on the lowest difficulty,) and he finds himself grateful for Yuuri’s guidance as he slowly starts improving. Yuuri seems to think he’s doing better as well, because slowly, his advice gets less frequent and he lets Viktor make his own choices as far as driving goes.

They’re about to start another race when Phichit looks over and pauses the game. Lifting a finger to his lips, he points at Yuuri. Dozing gently on Viktor’s shoulder, finally looks calm. Viktor points towards the bedroom, asking if they should get Yuuri in bed and Phichit nods. Between Phichit holding Yuuri in place so Viktor can move and Viktor picking him up and carrying him, Phichit guiding Yuuri’s legs and pulling back the covers, they get Yuuri tucked into bed.

 

~*~

 

Phichit and Viktor turn the corner, slowing when they hear arguing ahead. As they approach, the tone becomes angrier, almost accusing. They stop when they hear Yuuri raise his voice.

“Once again, I will _remind you_ that I am your _King!_ What I do in my personal life, and with whom, is no business of yours. I serve my country and my people, Your _Grace,_ not your whims nor your outdated ideals of what constitutes propriety. You may take your leave.”

There’s a hushed murmur, before Yuuri says angrily, “I _said_ you are _dismissed.”_

Phichit pulls Viktor into a nearby alcove as the door opens quickly, an older man in a kimono and hakama storming past. Viktor peeks around the corner, making sure the coast is clear, before gesturing to Phichit to follow. When they reach the open door, they see Yuuri standing in front of the hearth, arms crossed and a pensive look on his face. Rapping lightly on the open door, Viktor smiles when Yuuri looks his way.

Yuuri tries for an exhausted grin, but lets his face drop when he realizes neither Viktor nor Phichit are fooled.

“What was that about?” Viktor asks as he approaches.

Yuuri glances around the room, eyes coming to rest on the open door. “Phichit, close the door, would you?”

When the door is shut, Yuuri gravitates towards Viktor, leaning on him. “The nobility seem to think they can get away with telling me what to do. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

Viktor rubs his back soothingly as Yuuri sighs. “What would you like to do, Lyubov?” He asks.

“There’s nothing _to_ do,” Yuuri replies. “I have to meet with a small group of diplomats sent from the United States in about 20 minutes? You guys will be on your own for a bit, unfortunately.”

“We can entertain ourselves,” Viktor says, laughing.

Yuuri pulls back, raising one perfect eyebrow before glancing between them. “If you say so. Don’t destroy my palace, though.”

“Is today a tour day? I know there aren’t as many in late winter.” Phichit says. When Yuuri nods, he grins. “Viktor and I could do that. Take an ‘Official’ tour.”

“I know where to find cute Yuuri pictures,” Viktor says, smiling. Yuuri looks at him and blushes.

“Where?” Phichit asks excitedly.

“There’s one in this sitting room near a ballroom,” Viktor replies, “And another in the library. And I’m sure if we come across the Queen Mother she’d be more than happy to show us his baby pictures.”

“Vitya!” Yuuri hides his face behind his hands.

Phichit smiles like Viktor’s handed him the world. “I found this cute picture once of Yuuri as a little kid at an event? It was adorable, he was scowling and his little cheeks were puffed out.”

“Phichit stop,” Yuuri says. His face is still hidden, but his ears are bright red.

“I saw a picture of him streaking through one of the fancier sitting rooms,” Viktor says, grinning.

“Royal eyeroll at a state dinner, he was three seats from the Queen of England and he had something green on his nose.” Phichit smirks. An undignified squeak comes from Yuuri's direction, and both Viktor’s and Phichit’s smiles widen.

“Ice cream on the nose at a state dinner, on a dais in front of everyone.”

Phichit gasps. “Baby Yuuri rolling around on the grass!”

“That was staged,” Yuuri says from the corner. “Doesn’t count as candid.”

Phichit frowns. “What about that one of you on the fancy bookshelf? When your dad’s trying to get you down?”

“There’s a picture of that?!” Yuuri and Viktor say in unison.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “you didn’t tell me they’d taken pictures!!”

“I didn’t know,” Yuuri responds.

“I’ll find it again,” Phichit says, “don’t worry.”

Viktor turns back to Phichit with a self-satisfied grin. “I appreciate it, but consider: tiny Yuuri on ice skates.” Viktor drops his trump card, and Phichit’s flabbergasted look tells him he won.

“You said his mother has plenty of pictures?” Phichit asks, glancing at Yuuri, who’s now leaning against the wall with his face buried in his arms.

“She does,” Viktor says smugly. Yuuri groans.

“You two are _impossible,”_ he says.

There’s a knock on the door, causing Yuuri to jerk back and stand up straight. An attendant enters shortly, bowing. “Your Majesty,” she says, “Foreign Relations is here to give you a briefing for your upcoming meeting.”

Yuuri looks at her, pink still dusting his cheeks, but he gives a nod and dismisses her. Walking over to Viktor, his shoulders tense and he leans on his chest. “You guys should take off,” he says. “I’ll send a text when I’m done, this is my last meeting for today. It should only be a few hours.”

Nodding, Viktor kisses the top of his head.

“Ok, Velichestvo,” he says gently. “We’ll be here when you’re done, yes?”

Yuuri nods, and as they go to leave, Viktor sees him sigh and rub his face vigorously. It seems like he’s traded the burden of secrecy for the burden of responsibility, and Viktor wishes he could kiss the tension away.

 

The tour is far less interesting than Phichit and Viktor had planned, barely touching on anything to do with Yuuri’s childhood. It ends near a small gift shop, full of Royal memorabilia. Stuffed animals and small toys are available, all with some sort of connection to the royal family. There’s stationary, portraits, and books, and it’s pretty much like every other gift shop Viktor’s had the pleasure to set foot in, only this time his fiancé’s face stares from several different directions, his official portrait hung on the walls and in various pieces of art. Viktor swallows thickly, and Phichit looks both disturbed and strangely thrilled by this new development. After asking if he can take pictures, Phichit snaps a few selfies with some of the worst of the memorabilia, grinning as he plays with his phone.

“Are you posting that to Instagram?” Viktor asks.

“Nope. I’m texting them to Yu-“ Phichit looks around. “I’m texting them to a friend.”

“Do you text your friend pictures of this sort often?”

Grinning, Phichit nods. “Every time I find something… interesting. I’ll show you some of the texts sometime.” Viktor nods. It’s not long before he begins to attract attention and people whisper behind their hands as they stare. They make their way back to the residential area, moving slowly so as not to call even more attention to themselves, and sigh in relief once they’ve made it, heading out to the private gardens towards the rear of the palace.

 

“It’s weird, huh? Seeing him like this?” Phichit’s voice is soft as he leans against the railing with Viktor, looking out over the snowy palace grounds shimmering in the starlight.

Viktor looks at him. “What do you mean? You’ve known for years.”

“I have, but I’ve never seen it like… this.” Phichit smiles. “He really wanted to tell you, you know.”

“He said.” Sighing, Viktor looks at the stars. There aren’t a whole awful lot, being in the middle of a city as they are, and he wonders if Yuuri misses the stars in Michigan. He’d talked fondly of them on more than one occasion, had always wanted to take Viktor out to the countryside .

“Vity- sorry, I’m used to hearing Yuuri talk about you, and—”

“Vitya’s fine, Phichit,” Viktor interrupts. “At this point, I think we can call ourselves friends.”

Phichit nods, “I just… Yuuri fought so hard his bodyguard felt the need to remind me, personally, that I’d signed an NDA and couldn’t tell you, even if Yuuri had asked.” Viktor nods in understanding. Smiling, Phichit cocks one eyebrow. “He’d already asked three times at that point.”

“Wow.” Yuuri’s relief at the airport makes more sense as time passes. He’d wanted to alert Viktor, to let him have as much time as possible and if he’d been forbidden to tell, the next best thing was Viktor somehow, by some miracle, putting the pieces together himself.

An attendant comes outside at that point, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs. He gives a short bow. “His Royal Majesty requested hot chocolate be brought to you, sirs.”

Phichit smiles, taking the mugs and handing one to Viktor. “Um, thanks. And tell His Majesty thanks too, please.”

“I will inform His Royal Majesty of your gratitude, Mr. Chulanont.”

“Mine as well, if you will.” Viktor adds.

Tucking the silver tray under his arm, the attendant gives another bow. “As you wish, Mr. Nikiforov.” Turning on his heel, he marches back into the palace, closing the door gently behind him.

Viktor takes a long sip, looking out over the grounds and leaning on the railing. The chocolate is warm and thick, handmade whipped cream floating delicately on top. Viktor licks it off his top lip. Phichit turns as well, looking up at the sky and a cool breeze rustles the treetops as they drink their cocoa, the night quiet and still otherwise.

“My background check was done in a few days. I wonder what took them so long for you.” Phichit says, frowning.

“It’s because Vitya’s a foreigner,” Yuuri says, footsteps crunching in the snow as he makes his way over holding his own ceramic travel mug. He leans against the railing between them, kissing Viktor’s shoulder before taking a drink.

“What does me being foreign have to do with anything? Phichit’s not Sachiman either.”

“Traditionalist sentiment is strong in this country. My dad had enough trouble getting people to accept his relationship with my mom, and she was a lower-born Sachiman noble. You’re not only…”

“Common?” Viktor smiles reassuringly, as best he can.

Yuuri blushes and nods. “Not only are you common, but you’re a foreigner in a romantic relationship with their monarch. Well, at the time I was next in line, but still. Most people won’t have a problem with it, but the nobility isn’t ‘most people.’ They probably had the security team just keep delaying, hoping I’d break up with you, to be honest. Or you’d break up with me.”

Viktor frowns. “They’d really go that far, huh?” He didn’t want Georgi to be right. He had really been hoping Georgi wasn’t right.

“Yeah, Vitya. They would.”

Wrapping his arm around Yuuri, Phichit leans close. “Is that what the yelling was about earlier?”

He nods. “They’re not exactly fans of my choice of partner. Apparently, I can do better than ‘some foreign athlete’,” he finishes, with one-handed finger quotes.

Viktor kisses his cheek as he wraps his free arm around his waist. “Let’s talk about nicer things, yes? Let’s enjoy Phichit’s last night here,” he says, trying to diffuse the tension. Yuuri relaxes in his arms, uncoiling enough to let himself lean on the railing. He frowns, lost in thought as he sips his tea.

“We should watch a movie!” Phichit exclaims cheerfully. “Viktor, have you seen _The King and the Skater?”_

“I can’t say I have,” Viktor says as he finishes his cocoa.

Phichit’s eyes glimmer excitedly.

“It's only fitting, you know,” he says.

 

~*~

 

Goodbyes are harder than even Viktor expected them to be. Makka accompanies them to the airport, and Yuuri spends the drive curled up next to Phichit. They talk in hushed tones, not to exclude Viktor specifically but because that’s just how they do things. He’s fine with it, used to their friendship and more than ok with giving Yuuri the space he needs. When they reach the hangar, Phichit’s luggage is loaded onto the plane while he and Yuurie say their last farewell.

When they finish, Phichit comes over to Viktor. “I'm glad you're doing alright, Vitya,” he says. “It’s been great training with you.”

“You as well,” Viktor responds. “I'm looking forward to seeing what you bring to the next competition!”

Phichit grins. “I'll have a quad next season, if not before.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Viktor smiles as Phichit gives him a quick hug, returning it easily.

“I'll let you know when I can head to your place,” he says, holding up the apartment key Viktor gave him. “I'll call you while I'm there,  make sure I'm getting the right stuff.”

“I appreciate it,” Viktor says, “and the cash in my desk can be used to pay for shipping.”

“I'll stick the rest in a box,” Phichit says, “or I'll mail it separately.”

“Keep it,” Viktor replies with a wave of his hand, “you're doing me a huge favor.”

“If you're sure,” Phichit says, laughing. He glances at Yuuri, looks back up at Viktor. “Take care of him, yes?”

Viktor nods. “You know I will.”

Phichit purses his lips, opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and nods. “I know. You’re sure about this? About _everything?”_

“As sure as I can be,” Viktor replies. Phichit’s concern seems both excessive and well-warranted, and it’s not that he doesn’t think Yuuri can handle himself, but Yuuri’s his best friend and for the first time in almost four years, they’ll be living apart.

Yuuri spends a few minutes to the side with Phichit, chatting, and Viktor thinks back to the airport in Detroit. Back to the tearful goodbyes that had seemed so uncharacteristic of a even a study trip and the memories hurt worse now that he knows what they were mourning. Normalcy, the life they had. And Viktor had stood watching them, with an excited grin on his face, heady anticipation coursing through his veins. Part of him feels bad, even though he’d had no way of knowing.

There are tears still, but not the same look of pain on Yuuri’s face. Of dread. Viktor had been so quick to chalk it up to a dislike of travel, to anxiety about the assignment, about his schooling, about being in a foreign country, but he’d been _so_ wrong and he wonders how it all would have gone if he’d known. There are more hugs all around, Yuuri and Phichit holding tight for a moment, before Phichit kneels to pet Makka. Before getting on the plane, Phichit takes a selfie, all three of them gathered around Makkachin

“Can I tag you?” he asks Yuuri.

Yuuri nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I triple-checked tagging rules yesterday. It has to be the personal account, though.”

“Which one’s that?” Phichit furrows his brow as he types the caption.

“It’s the one without ‘official’ at the end.”

Chuckling to himself, Phichit finishes typing the caption out, lightning-fast. “Gotcha,” he says. He locks his phone, putting it in his pocket, and pulling both of them into a hug again.

“Take care, nerds,” he says, before turning and walking up the stairway. Viktor grabs Makkachin’s leash, keeping him safely at his side.

They stay and watch as the doors are closed, and Yuuri stares after the plane as it taxis out of the hangar. Once it’s out of sight, his shoulders slump some. “I’m going to miss him,” he says. “I’m really going to miss him. I miss his hamsters, too.”

Viktor puts his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I will, too.”

Yuuri smiles up at him, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder before they head back to the palace.

 

~*~

 

“So why are there four of you, again?” Viktor’s bodyguards look over from their seats across the plane. “I’ve only ever had two on official engagements,” he says, “and now there are four of you.”

One of them leans back in her seat. “My primary job is to drive. I’ll be staying with the car to make sure it’s not tampered with, and will be transporting you to and from the competition, as well as any other locations you would like to visit. These three,” she says, gesturing at the others, “will be with you at all times. One will go ahead, to make sure the path of travel is safe, the other two will stay with you to prevent incidents similar to what happened in Ostrava.”

“I see.” Viktor goes back to looking out the window. It seems excessive, but he’ll effectively only have two with him so likely not as excessive as it could be. Yuuri has three when they go to the rink alone. A situation like this, he’d probably have six or so minimum.

The flight doesn’t last long at all, with Sachima’s proximity to Japan, and it still feels like they’ve barely taken off when the pilot announces they’ll be landing soon. The drive to the hotel is uneventful, and Japan’s paparazzi laws mean he’s not hounded on his way in. Yakov meets him in the lobby, room key in hand before following him up to the room.

They’re not allowed to enter before a perfunctory check is done, but when they do Viktor puts his gear and garment bag on the bed, his suitcase at the foot. Since he has his own security detail, the competition is expected to go much like they normally do. Before he’d left, he’d been given a list of approved answers to some of the questions the press may ask about his personal life, as well as a list of topics he’s to avoid commenting on. It’s nothing difficult, and he copies it onto a notecard for easy carrying while Yakov gives his pre-competition pep talk.

“Vitya,” Yakov says when he’s done. “Everything is going well, yes?”

Viktor nods. “It’s great,” he says, “everything’s fine.” He doesn’t mention the nagging feelings in the back of his head he can’t quite name. He doesn’t mention their fights about the bodyguards, the sheer amount of new information he’s having to learn and process alongside his training. It’ll be a welcome relief to not have to skate as much, at least not for a while. He and Yuuri have a slew of appearances to make in the weeks after the season ends, and it’s at that point he’ll be able to get his things shipped out from Detroit. Most of it will be going to Russia, to be put in his apartment there, but Phichit’s volunteered to pack a couple boxes and send them straight to Hasetsu while Viktor figures out what his living situation is going to look like.

Yakov doesn’t quite look like he believes Viktor, but he drops the subject with a nod.

 

~*~

 

Bright and early the next morning, he wakes to a selfie from Yuuri looking grouchy in a black button-up. The mirror behind him shows he’s wearing black slacks and Viktor grins as he’s driven to the rink.

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   had to explain that black pants and a black shirt are formal enough if you’re woken up at 5 am**  
**< <<   i went to bed at 2**  
**< <<   they’re lucky i was dressed at all (ʘ‿ʘ✿) **  
**< <<   apparently an incident during guard training is enough to get me out of bed for**  
**< <<   no one got hurt. just a car in a field.**  
**< <<   but nooooooooooo i had to be briefed.**  
**< <<   ‘ym there is no danger to yourself’  (シ_ _)シ**  
**< <<   then just let me sleep. pls. v(ಥ ̯ ಥ)v **

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Are you wearing your work clothes?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   maybe. ╮( ˘ ､ ˘ )╭ **  
**< <<   leather shoes though, not the non-skid**  
**< <<   i smell like coffee. i have to keep asking for coffee to justify smelling like it.**  
**< <<   i’m starting to get jittery. ∑d(°∀°d) **

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   It may help to change and *not* keep getting coffee**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i just got food, it should help**  
**< <<   it better.**

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Любовь, it may still be a good idea to stop with the coffee**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   vitya i have meetings to go to and legislation to sign**  
**< <<   and this afternoon after you skate i’m drafting a proposed amendment to the laws of succession (￣ ￣|||) **  
**< <<   so i gotta be awake while i do that**  
**< <<   because i don’t want to word it wrong ( ง ゜д゜)ง **  
**< <<   i have a feeling they’ll go for male preference which… **  
**< <<   i’m going for straight succession （╯°□°）╯︵(\ .o.)\  **  
**< <<   anyway gotta be awake for that but afterwards is ballet ~(^u^)~ **  
**< <<   and then video games. (⌐■_■) **

**To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   And then sleep, right?**

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   ofc**  
**< <<   next day i’m doing shit with mari**

His arrival means Viktor doesn’t have time to reply before he’s exiting the car. There’s a wide carpet set out, fans and the media flanking on either side, and they cheer as he walks into the venue. Flashing a smile, he winks at the crowd, and they cheer. It’s refreshingly normal after the catastrophe that Euros was, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s Japan’s paparazzi laws, the bodyguards, or some combination of the two, but as far as what may well be his last competition goes, it’s starting off nicely.

 

By the end of the short programs he’s seated comfortably in first. The press is well-behaved during his post-skate interview. He talks happily about how he’s feeling about the free, about how clear it is that his competitors have also been working on improvement. It’s clear by the end that they’re disappointed he didn’t talk about Yuuri and taking on new roles as the partner to a king, but he doesn’t really care. Nothing gives them the right to know the details of that part of his life.

A few faces are familiar, members of the media that had been at Ostrava. Some who had been part of the problem. At least they have the decency to look somewhat remorseful when he’s asked about his bodyguards and gives a pointed response about the need for increased security after Europeans.

Others, he notices, don’t look as much like they regret their part in the nightmare of a competition and he files that information away for future use. Yakov shoos them away soon enough, walking with Viktor back to the locker room. The expected post-skate lecture comes then, while Viktor fixes his hair and puts his skates in their bag. His costume is hung in its garment bag, the make-up washed off his face, and by the time he’s ready to leave Yakov’s moved on to complaining about repairs being done to the rink in St. Petersburg. Something about the water pipes and a potential leak; Viktor can’t be bothered to care too much.

 

~*~

 

The free day Viktor has between the short and free skates he takes advantage of, as much as he can. Figure skating is popular in Japan, and as the reigning Living Legend, Viktor can’t go far without being recognized. He manages to see a few tourist destinations, his bodyguards following dutifully as he wanders around shops, around the Sensou-ji Temple in Asakusa. They drive past the Imperial Palace, and while none of his bodyguards say anything, he still feels a strange sense of foreboding. It won’t be long, he knows, until he ends up there with Yuuri, being amenable and genial, and hopefully with a bearing that reflects his position as the potential King-Consort.

As the _future_ King-Consort.

That evening, he’s taken to a restaurant near the hotel, meeting Yakov, Georgi, and Mila inside. Two of his bodyguards discreetly get a table nearby to keep an eye out, and while the chill at the nape of his neck is still present, still uncomfortable, it’s easier to deal with now that he knows what’s causing it. The menus are in English, but Viktor orders in Japanese. Unfamiliar words halting and awkward on his tongue, he struggles to speak clearly but the waitress is patient and he makes himself understood.

“Impressive,” Georgi says.

“I’m doing my best,” Viktor replies. He hasn’t studied with Minako as much as he’d have liked, but the basic Japanese he’s been taught has done its job. Now he only needs to continue to study, to refine his accent and pronunciation and hopefully, he’ll sound better before he ends up in a situation where he’ll need to use it. Especially if that situation is in an official capacity, such as, say, meeting Japan’s Imperial Family. To make an ass of himself would reflect badly on Yuuri, badly on his position, badly on his judgement, and Viktor cannot afford to mess this up.

The food arrives, a welcomed distraction, and Viktor offhandedly asks Georgi about his latest adventures in horticulture. Excitedly, Georgi gets going about his plants, the new succulent he somehow found room for on the shelves on his balcony. Yakov gives Viktor a look, knowing him too well to not see the question for what it was; a distraction, a way to keep the topic of conversation off of himself and Yuuri.

Yakov says nothing, though, and Mila’s too busy goading Georgi to see what happened. Georgi, of course, is lost in an in-depth explanation of watering practices, and the rest of the meal passes quickly.

 

~*~

 

 **To: Yuuri <3**  
**> >>   Любовь, will you watch me?**

 

By the boards, waiting for the free program he glances eagerly at his phone for a response. He knows Yuuri will watch, knows Yuuri’s promised to, but the asking has become almost as much routine ast he promise itself, and his mind flashes back to hearing the same words from Yuuri’s mouth, the day of the funeral.

 _“Watch me, Vityusha?”_ he’d asked and it had broken Viktor’s heart, shattered it into a million pieces with how utterly _lost_ he’d sounded. Still breaks his heart when he thinks too long about it and he takes a moment to close his eyes. The last months have been hectic, and things are only barely shifting back into a sort of routine, as strange as they still feel. He takes a moment before his phone buzzes in his hand again.

 

 **From: Yuuri <3**  
**< <<   i will**  
**< <<   always.**  
**< <<   davai, vitya.**  
**< <<   [photo attached]**

 

Yuuri’s sent a selfie. He’s smiling, dressed in a pastel purple shirt and a rose gold crown, and in the background is his laptop, open to a livestream of the competition. When he takes a closer look, Viktor can see himself on camera, staring at his phone, and he chuckles. He’s announced before he has time to respond, so Viktor hands his phone and skate guards to Yakov. Before taking to the ice, he hears a reassuring grunt behind him and he smiles. Taking off, he skates an obligatory lap, the audience responding with enthusiasm, and for a second he holds his hands against his chest, eyes fixed on the ice in front of him.

_Deep breath in._

This is his last skate of his last competition of the season.

This is his first time performing Stammi Vicino as an engaged man.

He smiles. Yuuri’s watching, and he lets his mind settle on their promises, their love, their commitment to doing anything and everything they can to stay together, and his heart swells as he skates to the center. He can’t shout his love to the world, can’t share his excitement to be engaged to the man to whom he’s given his heart, but he can _show_ it. A smile is flashed in the judges’ direction as he comes to a stop and he takes a moment, letting his arms fall to his side and his chin drop to his chest.

_Deep breath out._

The routine comes to him almost effortlessly, the emotion he feels plain in every movement, every expression, and he feels an outpouring of love as he skates new meaning into the program. When jumping, he feels lighter than air, when spinning, it’s as if the entire world is moving around him and he can’t stop the smile, the look of contentment and satisfaction on his face as he skates his heart.

When he finishes, stuffed animals and flowers rain down around him as he revels in a headrush he hasn’t felt quite so strongly in years. The audience is on their feet, shouting their admiration and it’s thrilling. It’s invigorating, and as he bows with aplomb the volume only rises, his name being chanted through the stadium as he waves. On his way out, he picks up a few stuffed animals, including a surprisingly accurate stuffed Makkachin, and when he reaches the boards flowers are shoved into his arms before he’s had a chance to get his skate guards on properly.

Sitting at the Kiss and Cry, he smiles at the cameras, sends love and well-wishes to his family, to Yuuri and _his_ family, and as his scores are announced he grins.

What may be his last competition, and he’s taken the gold.

 

The thrill of victory doesn’t fade as he stands on the podium, doesn’t fade as he talks to the press. They ask about the next season, and he feels his face drop slightly. Part of him wants to keep competing, wants to keep skating until his body gives out and he’s forced to quit, but another part of him wonders if it’s worth it. He could go out with a bang, with a perfect season and his name firmly next to several world records, but he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.  Being with Yuuri provides enough excitement that he wouldn’t be bored out of his mind, but after twenty years, it’s almost impossible to imagine what life would be like without the ice.

Giving a small chuckle, he waves it off, saying he has yet to discuss plans for next season with Yakov. It doesn’t satisfy the press, he can tell, but there are no further questions regarding the future of his career. Along with Chris and Otabek Altin, a young skater from Kazakhstan, he fields the remaining questions from the press, smiles pretty for the photographers, and walks out of the room at a loss with what to do with himself.

He has time to make his decision, though, and he’s already got routines in mind so it’s not a matter of urgency at the moment. Dinner that night is at the hotel restaurant, Yakov, Georgi, and Mila sitting around the table as their drink orders are taken. For the most part, conversation with his rinkmates and coach has been superfluous, mostly small talk and commentary on routines. Mila’s last skate is tomorrow morning, and after the pairs skates comes the exhibition, then the gala, and after that he’ll finally be returning to Hasetsu.

The conversation shifts to future plans as the food is brought, and all eyes turn to Viktor.

“Will you be coming back to Russia?” Mila asks, using her chopsticks to pick at her noodles.

Viktor shrugs. “At some point,” he says, “but I’m not sure how I’ll be splitting my time. I need to stay in Hasetsu when I can. Events and whatnot.” He shoves a bite of fish into his mouth.

“You’re moving to Hasetsu?” Georgi looks at him with a raised eyebrow, no doubt remembering Viktor’s impulsive decision to stay in Detroit. Not that Viktor would (or could) regret that decision, not when it’s brought him so much happiness.

He ignores the voice inside that reminds him how much easier things would be if he’d left.

“At least part-time,” he says, grinning. “I have appearances to make with Yuuri and it’s a lot harder to do that from Russia!”

“Like parties and stuff?” Mila looks at him inquisitively.

“And stuff,” he responds, taking a sip of his tea. “We need to be seen together. If I'm going to consider marrying into the family, I need to know what it’s going to be like, and I can’t do that from St. Petersburg.”

“It seems like a lot of work,” Mila says. “Especially since you didn't know when you got with him.”

It almost sounds like she’s implying something that Yuuri is making him jump through hoops to keep his love. Eyes narrowing, Viktor meets her gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

She blanches. “It’s just… a _lot,_ and not like you. You've never taken anything this seriously before.”

_As if she would know._

“Mila,” Georgi says, “you don't end up in Vitya’s position without knowing how to take things seriously.”

“Yuuri’s not pushing me into this,” Viktor adds as he stirs his fish into his rice. “He’s been more than honest, and made it clear he didn’t expect me to stay.”

“But still, before he even got into—”

“Mila,” Georgi interrupts, “Vitya is more than capable of discussing and thinking things through like a rational adult. He knows more about the situation than we do, and we should respect that. He doesn't need to justify himself.” It’s good to know _someone_ has his back.

Sheepish, Mila sinks into her chair. Yakov even looks chagrined and Viktor can’t help the surge of satisfaction he feels. He gives Georgi a grateful nod, and Georgi smiles in return. No one speaks for a while, the clack of ceramic chopsticks loud against the dishware. The tea on the table is finished, a new pot brought out, and Viktor’s just pushing his plate away when Georgi speaks again.

“How’s Makkachin liking Hasetsu?”

“He’s loving it,” Viktor replies, grateful for the shift in topic. “He’ll be getting brushed every few days, bathed or groomed as often as he needs. The grounds are huge, all of his meals are healthy and prepared by hand, and he’s already picked his favorite chair in each of the rooms he spends a lot of time in!”

“And they don’t mind a dog?” Mila’s looking at him again, still shy.

Shaking his head, Viktor looks at her. “They had a dog up until about a year and a half ago. They’re perfectly fine with it, even with him sleeping on the bed!”

Mila, still picking at her noodles, looks up like she has more questions and Viktor decides, possibly against his better judgement to indulge her. When he gives her a smile and nod, she looks down at her plate, and then back at him. “What’s it like?” she asks.

“Living at the palace?”

She shakes her head. “Being in a relationship with a king. Just… it must be different.”

“It is,” he says. “There’s a lot. It’s not all easy, but it’s worth it, to me.”

“Do you have servants or something? Did you have tea with the Queen?”

“Queen Mother,” Viktor corrects gently. “She’s Yuuri’s mom. And we usually all eat together, Yuuri and me with his mom and sister.” Mila nods. “There are attendants, but I don’t have personal attendants if that’s what you want to know.”

Glancing to where Viktor’s bodyguards are eating at their own table, Mila twists her mouth to the side. “Do they always go with you?”

Viktor nods. “There’s one that usually accompanies me, Yulian, but he’s not on the trip. I don’t usually have this many.” Swallowing his discomfort with the next bite of food, he smiles as reassuringly as possible. “It’s just a precautionary measure,” he says. “Mostly to make sure I don’t get chased again or anything like that.” And to make sure whoever had it out for Yuuri doesn’t take it out on _him._ He already has enough people questioning his decisions, with enough reasons they can justify as ‘good,’ and talking about the danger he’s agreed to put himself in is definitely not the way to assuage that.

There are times even _he_ questions his own sanity. He doesn’t need any encouragement on the part of other people.

“The rink is nice,” he says, hoping to pull the topic of conversation into more friendly waters. “The couple that runs it were childhood friends of Yuuri’s!”

“Why’d he leave, anyway?” Georgi’s looking at him curiously. He’s been good about not being nosy so far, and Viktor can forgive a well-intentioned question, even if he doesn’t entirely want to answer.

“I’m not allowed to talk about it beyond that there was an attempt on his life,” Viktor says. It’s not necessarily true, but he doesn’t want to deal with that route of inquiry and the Palace’s overbearing desire for control is a convenient excuse to brush off questions.

Georgi nods as everyone settles back into the rhythm of eating without further comment.

 

~*~

 

Viktor has a new suit to wear for the banquet, one given to him by the palace. A dark, rich purple, the suit somehow manages to bring out his eyes, to complement his hair, and the tailoring only serves to emphasize and flatter his physique. The banquet’s starting to really get going when he arrives, and he smiles at the various sponsors milling about. Unsure as to whether or not he’s returning next season, Viktor does his best to smile, to laugh, to keep things genial and hopeful while still making no promises.

In the interest of being polite, his current sponsors for the most part keep their conversation focused on his skating, only daring to go so far as to inquire about the training facilities available to him. They’re more than adequate, he assures them with a grin, perfect for his needs. This earns smiles, pats on the back, and Viktor does his best not to shrug them off when they put their hands on his shoulders. Years of having his hair touched, grabbed, caressed, styled unwillingly have left him wary of uninvited touch near his head and neck. Some go so far as to fling their arm around him, pulling him close for a picture, often without asking beforehand. Those are the worst, the people who think they’re entitled to his time, his space, his body in order to further their egos or give them something to brag about on social media.

He doesn’t particularly _like_ being touched to begin with, not by people he doesn’t know, and Galas have always been a special form of torture. At least when he’s on the ice, he’s alone. Sighing, he resigns himself to a night of resisting urges to pull away. Chris approaches him as he stands in the corner, champagne flute in hand, and he fights the voice that tells him to move further, to put as much distance as he can between himself and anyone else, friend or not.

“You look well,” Chris says, and that tells Viktor more about how good he is at masking himself than it does about how he’s doing.

Smile.

Look fine, look friendly.

“I _am_ doing well,” he says. Thinking of Yuuri helps. It's easier to smile when he remembers Yuuri’s laughter, the excited shine he gets in his eyes. The brush of Yuuri’s fingers on his cheek, his lips, the way his arms wrap around Viktor when he holds him close and he realizes it’s never been about the touch itself.

It’s the meaning behind it.

For Yuuri, that means love, comfort, a way of grounding Viktor when he needs it the most. A way of grounding Yuuri when his anxiety gets out of hand and Viktor can’t forget the desperation with which Yuuri had clung to him in their first weeks here. The way he still clings sometimes when the panic and the pressure become overwhelming and all he knows is that failure must be inevitable.

Viktor’s face falters, but he covers it with a cough and a sheepish smile. “I've had a dry throat recently,” he laughs. “I'm lucky I didn't go into a coughing fit on the ice!” He lets Chris wrap his arm around his shoulders and while it's not quite _Yuuri,_ it's not entirely uncomfortable.

It doesn’t stop him from shrugging away a few seconds later.

“Congratulations on taking silver,” he says. “You've been working hard.”

“I have _indeed,”_ he replies with a sultry lilt.

Viktor humors him. “It _certainly_ shows. No pole tonight? I heard Euros Gala was one to remember. Sochi certainly was.”

Chris laughs. “Imagine if Coffee Boy had been there. You said he does pole?”

“He does. Quite well. His skating is reasonably good, too. If he’d been a competitor…”

“How good is ‘reasonably,’ Vitya?”

“He doesn’t compete but has all his triples.” Chris’s eyes widen.

“Imagine indeed,” Chris says. “Have you figured out next season?”

None of Viktor’s sponsors are in earshot, and he sighs. “No. Yuuri says he’ll be supportive either way, though. I just want to see how the next few weeks go, since it’ll be more typical of life with him. In the family. You don't seem so… disapproving anymore,” he notes, meeting and holding Chris’s gaze.

Chris shrugs, glancing to the side. “Fighting with you about it isn't worth it. I'd rather keep you as a friend than be right.”

It isn't as good as it could be, but it's better than it's been.

Karpisek pulls Chris away in short order and Viktor makes it a point to wave and laugh him off. He himself is drawn into another conversation. A sponsor, wanting to introduce him to a friend. The sponsor’s friend looks Viktor over like most people standing next to the Living Legend do; slowly up his body, coming to rest on his jaw, his nose, his eyes, before lingering on his hair.

They exchange unpleasant pleasantries, the sponsor makes herself scarce, and her friend gives him another once-over. “Smart move, Nikiforov,” he says, “ensuring you remain at the front of everyone’s minds.”

“I'm sorry?”

“This fling you're having,” the man replies, with a knowing look. “Woo a king, keep people thinking of you, talking about you until you decide to retire. You'll stay relevant, no matter how well you do. I know your type.” Chuckling, the man sips his champagne. “You moved quickly, too. Good work.”

“You must be mistaken,” Viktor says, a razor’s edge in every word. “His Royal Majesty and I have been dating since well before his identity was known to both myself and the world.”

“Then I'd watch out for that one. Probably just wants you on his arm. I'd take advantage while you can, you know.”

Bristling, Viktor swallows a scathing remark, reigns his anger in and lets it coil tight in his chest. “Do you have a point or are you only here to make unnecessary commentary on subjects about which you know nothing?”

Ok, maybe he didn’t bite it back as well as he’d hoped. Clearly taken aback, the man sneers. “Your naivete will only hurt you in the end,” he smirks. “You're not fooling anyone, neither of you are.”

“Sir,” Viktor hears from next to him. He turns, looking into the face of one of his bodyguards. “Would you like us to remove this man?”

Giving the man a disdainful look, Viktor shakes his head. “No need to bother,” he says. “The conversation was just finishing up. If you could accompany me to the bathroom, though, I’d appreciate it.”

 

It's in the bathroom that Viktor lets himself feel the exhaustion. Emotional, physical, it's all-encompassing and weighs on him to the point where he wants nothing more than to leave. Whether that’s just the Gala, or figure skating in general, he’s not sure, but he’d rather be anywhere than here. He splashes water on his face, loosens his tie, runs shaking fingers through his hair as he tries to settle himself. He can do this. He _needs_ to do this. Post-competition nerves are still thrumming in the background, his body feels like he’s a car idling in the center of the road. Tired, irritable, Viktor looks at his bodyguard.

“When is it we’re leaving for Hasetsu?”

“Tomorrow morning, sir, nine a.m. local time. Would you like me to make it sooner?”

Viktor mulls it over for a minute. Staying at the hotel another night is the last thing he wants to do. In Hasetsu, he has distractions. He can skate. The library is full of books he hasn’t read, and no one questions him holing up in his room all day around walking Makkachin.

He doesn’t want to deal with Yakov’s questions, though, which is why he shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be ready to leave by eight,” he says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll be texting Yakov to let him know I’m leaving early, though. If you could get ready to head back to the hotel?”

As his bodyguard relays plans through his earpiece, Viktor brushes his hair into place, pulls his tie straight. Yakov’s response buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it as he puts on a smile. As he heads out of the bathroom, he stops in front of the guard, looking him in the eye. “I can trust your discretion, yes?”

He nods. “Absolutely, sir.”

“With regards to His Royal Majesty, as well?”

“I can’t disobey a direct order to tell him, sir, but outside of that it remains between us.” Yuuri’s not the type to take advantage of his authority, and Viktor trusts him, so he just nods.

“Excellent.” Tugging his jacket into place, he pulls open the door and heads out. Almost to the elevators, he turns a corner to see Georgi leaning against the wall.

“Vitya,” he says, “are you okay?”

_Smile. Everything’s fine._

“The champagne hit me harder than I expected,” he laughs, letting himself look pained. “I’m not feeling so great and my head is hurting, so I’m going to get some sleep before the flight tomorrow. Yuuri and I are meeting for lunch!”

Georgi smiles. “Sounds fun, Vitya. Good night.”

“Night, Gosha,” he replies with a grin. He doesn’t let his face fall until he’s in the elevator, loosening his tie with a heavy sigh. The room is small, compared to the palace, and he marvels at the fact it seems both strange and achingly familiar and he wonders how long it’ll be until everything feels normal again.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the skin of my teeth D:
> 
> I’ve had a recent upheaval in stuff in real life so my writing’s been pushed down a few priority slots. I’m still trying to get everything balanced out, and definitely still publishing the rest of the story!! I also have a short story mostly written, seven chapters, to be published over the week of 5/13-5/19 for YOI Royalty Week.
> 
> Between the upheaval and the other story, I will be delaying the publishing of the next chapter by two weeks (basically skipping one update,) in order to give myself time to catch up. If things go well enough I feel like I’ll be able to stick to my regular update schedule, I’ll post an update on my tumblr and try to add an edit to this chapter note. I do plan to add a chapter to either All This and Heaven, Too or Closets (if not both!) in between updates for TNOT.
> 
> Special thanks to Isis and Riki for being great and encouraging, along with discord peoples!
> 
> More special thanks to Ace (tumblr or AO3) for her help with writing Hindu Phichit.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  Любовь (моя) (Lyubov (moya)) = “(My) beloved” in Russian  
> The song Yuuri plays is  Scales and Arpeggios from The Aristocats.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings will be added as chapters are added. There are a few things I'll warn for in the end notes of the chapter before, _and tags will be updated accordingly._**
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon ](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	11. Another Clever Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is about the point in time where Viktor wonders if there's anything else life just wants to throw at him while it's at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [You're Gonna Go Far Kid by The Offspring](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Fwg05rPoPE)

Yuuri stands in front of the camera and television awkwardly, tugging at his waistcoat. His fingers brush over his hair, though he’s not wearing any headwear, and move to adjust the glasses he’s not wearing either. He’s nervous. Viktor gives him a smile and two thumbs up behind the video tech person who’s streaming Yuuri’s final presentation to his university in Detroit, getting a shy grin in return. Soon enough, the video call is connected, and Yuuri's teacher and classroom come up on the laptop screen. 

Clearing his throat, Yuuri waves at the camera.“Um, hi, everyone. Long time no see.” The class waves in return. “Ah, first, I’d like to apologize for missing everyone’s presentations. I’m a little busy, as you can, um, imagine. Professor, I’d like to thank you for making time for me to present early.” He gives a shallow bow, barely more than a nod of his head, then takes a deep breath.

“Anyway, my presentation is on the Socioeconomical Ramifications of the Transfer of Power from Colonizer to the Formerly-Colonized, with focus on Sachima. I’ve used a range of sources, including ones from the National Archives here in Hasetsu. Unfortunately, I’m unable to provide digital copies of some sources, as they won’t hold up to modern imaging techniques, but I’ve clearly marked those and have provided links to both transcriptions  _ and _ translations.”

He clicks to the next slide, with general information. “Now, Sachima, or Akitsushima as we call it, is an island nation off the coast of Japan. The current Head of State, in this case the King,” he says, as he flips to another slide with his coronation portrait and information on it, “is, well, me. Yuuri.” He blushes. “We have a constitutional monarchy, and I… the current monarch holds most of the legislative power.” He shifts uncomfortably again, looking at the television. “I… I see there are questions. I’m not answering… Ok, if your question  _ isn’t _ related to the presentation, I’ll answer it after, but if it is keep your hands up?”

Viktor’s eyes widen as every person in the class puts their hands down. Yuuri sighs. It takes him 30 minutes to get through the presentation itself. The class gets a few questions in about previous monarchs, wondering where they were in relation to Yuuri, but otherwise save their inquiries. Once Yuuri opens the floor, though, the class goes wild. It takes nearly an hour and a half to sate everyone’s curiosity.

One person asks Yuuri if they can use him for a source (“Jason, your presentation is due next week,” Yuuri replies, aghast, “why are you still looking for sources?”) and several more ask to visit (“I, uh, might not be personally available but we do have tours and there are pictures of me around if that’s what you’re after,” he says, “not that Google won’t pull up a bunch.” Several people pull out their phones, to Yuuri's chagrin). There are inquiries into his past (mostly confidential for now), what his life is currently like (stressful), if he’s actually dating Viktor (yes, but he can’t comment further), if his phone number still works (no, and he’s not allowed to give out his new one), if he has an Instagram (yes, and he’ll link to it in the class forum), and if he’s walking with them for graduation. He doesn’t have an answer for that one, but replies that it’s unlikely.

“You didn’t act like a prince,” one girl says, and Yuuri grimaces.

“I was in hiding, so I wasn’t supposed to.”

“So how many world leaders do you know?” another asks.

“I mean, I met a bunch at events? I knew more when I was a kid, but they were always here to talk to my dad.”

“Can you introduce me to Obama?”

Yuuri sighs. “It doesn’t really… I can’t just call up the President of the United States and ask to hang out…”

“Do you still know how to make coffee?”

Yuuri looks at the screen in disbelief. “No,” he says, completely deadpan. “When new monarchs are crowned in Akitsushima, we have to go through a vigorous process of memory erasure that eradicates previously-learned skills that don’t fall under certain categories considered acceptable for a monarch. This includes any and all food or beverage preparation, shoe-tying, and how to go through a drive-thru.”

There’s a second of silence, before the entire class erupts into laughter. Yuuri smiles, promising again to answer questions online, before he has to sign off. He takes a seat next to Viktor as the equipment is packed up.

“How’d I do, Vitya?” he asks with a smile.

“Very informative, Velichestvo,” Viktor responds. He kisses his nose. “Especially the bit about the shoelaces. I was wondering about that.”

“You’ll have to teach me to cook again.”

“At least I know not to start with potatoes.” Yuuri blushes as he gives him a small shove. 

“You  _ still _ haven’t taught me how to cut potatoes properly,” he says, “I have scars on my hands, I will triumph. I’ll be the spud master.”

“The Spud Master?” Viktor smiles as Yuuri's blush spreads. Kissing him on the forehead, Viktor laughs. “His Royal Majesty King Yuuri of Akitsushima, Maker of Coffee, Master of Spuds,” Viktor says, earning himself a laugh and a pinch on his stomach.

Yuuri snuggles in. “Hey, Vitya?” he says after a moment.

“Yes?”

“So, in a few weeks we’re going to have a Welcome Home ball for me. Slash Coronation Ball. It’ll celebrate both. I, uhh. Well, since you’re with me. Officially. I was thinking that we’d, well, we could go. Together.” He sounds like a nervous teenager asking Viktor to go to prom with him. 

“I thought I was  _ supposed _ to go to most formal events with you?”

“I’m not going to  _ force _ you,” Yuuri says. “I still wanna make sure you’re ok with things like this before we decide you’re going. You haven’t had that long here,” he mumbles. “It’s only been a few months.”

“Well, I’d love to,” Viktor responds. “Thank you.”

Sighing happily, Yuuri cranes his neck to give Viktor a kiss on his jaw. “I’m sure Minako-sensei will begin her ballroom training in earnest. We’ll be expected to dance,” he says, “with each other and with other people. You should probably make sure you’re seen dancing with my family. Maybe with Minako-sensei. Madame Lilia.”

“Lilia’s going to be there?”

Yuuri nods. “She’s been invited, and it’s not an invitation she’d want to turn down on a whim.”

“What about Yakov?”

“Madame Lilia has a plus-one, she can bring who she will. She could bring Yuri if she really wanted to,” he chuckles. The very idea of Yuri at a royal function is not one Viktor wants to think about at the moment. He’s having such a good afternoon. 

Viktor rubs Yuuri’s shoulder. “Well. We’ll see who she brings. If anyone.”

“I should have your stuff moved,” Yuuri says absently. “You’ve been to your room three times in the week since you got back from Worlds, and all of them were just to pick up clothing.”

“I got socks once.”

“That counts as clothing, Vitya.”

With an exaggerated pout, Viktor lays his legs across Yuuri’s lap. “I got a book one time.”

“Because you saw it when you needed underwear. Do you want your stuff moved?”

Viktor nods, because it almost feels like moving in together and staying with Yuuri feels so right and he finds himself unexpectedly thrilled, even though very little will be changing overall. Yuuri calls an attendant over, whispers his request and punctuates it with a please before they bow and scurry off. Not wanting to pressure his staff too much, Yuuri had asked that it be done at their earliest convenience, as long as it was before bed, but Viktor isn’t surprised when a mere few minutes later another attendant rushes in to let them know it’s been done.

“Your Royal Majesty,” a different attendant says, approaching.

“Yes?” Yuuri looks up, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Her Majesty the Queen Mother would like to invite both yourself and Mr. Nikiforov to her formal sitting room for tea at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, picking his crown up from where it’s set on a cushion. “Please inform my mother we’ll be there promptly.”

 

In the sitting room, Hiroko is at a table with a woman about her age and Hana, chatting. “Yuuri,” she says when she sees them, “Viktor! Thank you for coming at such short notice. Mari should be here, soon!” All three women stand as they enter, and instead of his usual protest Yuuri takes it in stride. 

“Hello, Okaa-san,” he says, “Hana-san.” Coming up to his mother he gives her a kiss on her cheek. Hana gives a bow, before gesturing at the woman next to her. 

“Your Royal Majesty,” she says, “I'd like to introduce my mother, Kataoka Atsuko.”

Atsuko bows. “I’ve been an active member of the Royal Guard, and have been working as Her Majesty’s personal bodyguard for many years now, Your Majesty. It’s been an honor to serve your family.”

“We became close after you both left,” Hiroko explains. 

Yuuri nods in understanding. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kataoka-san. I'm glad to hear you and my mother found some level of comfort in each other over the years.” Holding his hand out, he smiles. “Thank you.”

With a demure smile, Atsuko takes it, giving it a firm shake. “My pleasure, Sire, it's an honor to finally meet you.”

Yuuri gives a nod, gesturing towards Viktor. “I'd like to introduce my partner, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor shakes her hand, her grip just this side of painful, and he throws on his best press smile. “Pleased to meet you,” he says. He greets Hiroko with a small bow, and Hana with a warm handshake, before they move to take their places at the table.

Yuuri sits first, Viktor taking his usual place at his side as everyone sits again.

“Your Majesty,” Hana says to Yuuri, “I would have loved to introduce you sooner, but as I’d just gotten home, we took some time to reconnect.” She smiles when Yuuri nods. She knows he understands that need to have time with family after a long absence, and he wouldn’t begrudge her had she taken longer. As it is, he seems happy to see Hana again.

“Do you remember the vegetable soup I used to make when you got sick?” Hana asks.

“The one you used to freeze a bunch of during the winter?”

Hana nods. “Yes. I learned the recipe from my mother.”

The smile on Yuuri’s face is warm, but he’s clearly not entirely comfortable, though Hana and Hiroko’s relaxed demeanor seems to steadily be putting him at ease. “It’s delicious,” he says. “I have a lot of fond memories of that soup.”

“I’m glad, Your Majesty,” Atsuko says. She grins. It's bright, almost too wide, but it reaches her eyes. “The recipe has been passed down in my family for generations. I would be more than happy to give it to the chef if it would please you.”

“I'd like that, thank you,” Yuuri responds. 

 

Mari arrives, with the tea following shortly thereafter. Conversation is lively, and Yuuri laughs as he finishes telling them about the restaurant in Russia.

“Oh, Velichestvo,” Viktor says, “I needed to talk to you about going back to Russia to sort out my apartment.”

“That should be fine,” Yuuri says, “we can figure out timing and travel plans when we have a better idea. We should do it soon, though, so if you’re bringing stuff home we can make sure the plane will be large enough to carry it.”

“Sire,” Atsuko says with a smile, “are you not going to Russia in a few weeks time? I don’t mean to presume, but I do some work with the security team that coordinates your travel and I saw something on your schedule in St. Petersburg.”

Yuuri nods. “That’s a good point.” He looks at Viktor. “We can get details and figure it out, depending on how long you need to stay. We could fly out or back together, if not both.”

Smiling, Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand, squeezing it. “I’ll talk to Yakov and Lilia, see what they think.”

Atsuko pours herself another cup of tea. “You two could get some sightseeing in, tour the city. Have you been, Your Majesty?” she asks.

“No,” Yuuri answers, “not since I was a child. I don’t remember very much of it.” He looks at Viktor, grinning. “I’d love to see it with you.”

“I’d love to show it to you,” Viktor responds. If he gets Yuuri to bring his skates, he can likely get them rink time as well. He starts a list of things to do in his head, smiling as squeezes Yuuri’s hand. 

 

“This must have been rather the unpleasant surprise I imagine, Mr. Nikiforov,” Atsuka says as they’re finishing up.

Yuuri glances at Viktor out of the corner of his eye, wondering how he’s going to navigate this line of conversation. Viktor swallows the bite he was chewing before responding. “Unexpected, certainly, but we talked through things. I can see why he didn’t tell me, and I don’t hold it against him.”

After the barest moment of hesitation, she leans forward with a smile. “How fortunate, His Royal Majesty is, to have someone like you by his side, Mr. Nikiforov. How  _ incredibly _ fortunate.” She turns to look at Yuuri. “It’s so good to see you found happiness, Your Majesty, and I wish you two only the best.”

Smiling, Yuuri looks at Viktor fondly, taking his hand and squeezing it before looking back at Atsuka. “Thank you for your well-wishes,” he says. “I'm quite lucky indeed.”

“I can't imagine adapting to court life is easy at all; how are you doing?” Voice laced with concern, she looks at Viktor sympathetically. 

“I’ve been doing well. His Majesty and Minako-sensei have been diligent about making sure I have everything I need to navigate court,” Viktor says, before finishing his tea. 

“Much of it has been thanks to Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says. “I haven’t really been involved on a day-to-day basis.”

That's not true. Yuuri’s spent hours working with him, explaining the various workings of court, working with Viktor on the language, and generally making sure he knows what's going on at any given point in time. One of their most important rules, though, is that Viktor doesn't contradict Yuuri. Not in front of anyone outside of Yuuri’s family, and not when it’s such a blatant lie, a clear indication that the party being lied to shouldn’t know the truth to begin with. Any problems they have are hashed out in private, where they can speak as equals. In public it's more important to present a united front. Viktor smiles.

“His Majesty was kind enough to arrange for my education and Minako-sensei has been an excellent teacher,” he says. “I feel confident that I'll only continue to adapt well.”

“Well,” Atsuka says, “that is absolutely splendid, I’m so happy to hear that. Welcome to Hasetsu, Mr. Nikiforov.”

 

~*~

 

When they get back to their room that night the first thing Yuuri does after taking off his crown is kiss him. It starts with a brush of lips and then a pause before Viktor feels Yuuri’s arm around his waist, his other hand threading itself through the hair on the back of Viktor’s head. He pulls Yuuri close, deepening the kiss until they're pressed together and everything in Viktor starts coalescing into unbridled heat, coursing through every inch of his body and sparking where their skin makes contact. It’s a tender but fervent declaration of love, a quest for intimacy and touch they’re denied in many areas of their life but in this moment they can have each other, be  _ with _ each other without worry. There’s no posturing, no deference, no dancing around expressions of love and Viktor knows they’re both glad for it.

Yuuri sighs with contentment as he pulls away just enough to give Viktor a smile before resting his head on his shoulder. In the comfortable silence they hold each other, neither wanting to shatter the moment with words. Peaceful, calm, the atmosphere is reminiscent of their time in Detroit, the quiet moments spent on Viktor’s couch after a long day and a wave of nostalgia hits him. It’s hard not to miss how things used to be. So much simpler, so much more sure, Viktor had felt on top of the world and he craves the easy intimacy they used to have.

Well, easy for him. There’s no way to know how Yuuri’d been feeling, but the last months before they came to Hasetsu had been fraught. Perhaps, with the secret he’d been forced to keep, he’d never felt relaxed in the same way Viktor had. Constantly having to watch what he said and how he acted must have put an undue amount of stress on him beyond school and work and a relationship, was likely  _ exacerbated  _ by the relationship and Viktor pulls Yuuri closer, holds him tighter. Whether it’s for support or in apology he doesn’t know, but Yuuri sinks into his embrace, lets the weight fall off his shoulders for just this moment.

 

They’re interrupted by a patterned knock. It’s not Mari or Hiroko’s, and Viktor frowns in the general direction of the hall door, but Yuuri smiles. Viktor follows him into the sitting room, staying back a few feet as Yuuri pulls it open. 

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says as she walks in, “what brings you here so late?”

“A delivery,” she says with a smile. Rummaging around in her purse, she pulls out a soft velvet bag. Whatever is inside is long, the bag keeping its shape as she holds it out to Yuuri, who takes it gingerly.

“Is this…”

“Yes,” she says, smiling at him. “Majesty, I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to, but I must urge you to take caution.” The tone of voice says she has a good idea, though, and Viktor’s brow furrows.

Yuuri nods in response, handing the bag to Viktor before flinging his arms around her. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I appreciate it.”

She wraps her arms around him lovingly, rests her cheek on his for a brief moment before pulling back. “I have your mother to meet for a chat, so I should be going. I’ll see you both for ballroom next week, yes?”

Yuuri nods. “Of course.”

“Absolutely,” Viktor says.

With a final nod, she leaves as quickly as she arrived, and they’re left alone once more. Yuuri takes the bag from Viktor with unexpected reverence, eyes shimmering with something unspoken. A black leather box is taken out of the bag. Wide and flat, Viktor can’t figure out what it might contain before Yuuri’s taken him by the hand, pulling him into the bedroom. They sit on the bed together, and Yuuri takes a deep breath.

“I had these commissioned,” he says, opening the case. Lying on black velvet are two almost identical silver snowflakes, delicate filigree twisting around and through to form each of the six points with a gemstone set in the center. Yuuri pulls out the necklace with a purple gemstone, holding it gently in hand.

“Vityusha,” he murmurs, “I thought… since we can’t have traditional rings yet, that we could have these. They’re both sapphire, identical in every way but the color of the gem.”

The implications hit Viktor in a rush, knocking the air from his chest as he looks into his fiancé’s eyes. Rings would be too obvious before they were officially engaged, and passing them off as something else would be impossible, but these… these can be hidden under clothing, these can be explained away, and for Yuuri to have gone through all this trouble to make sure they had  _ something _ leaves Viktor without words. It’s proof,  _ solid  _ proof of their commitment, and Viktor’s a very tactile person. Yuuri knows this. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath before looking back up.

There’s no need to say anything, Yuuri can see the love in Viktor’s eyes, written plainly across his face and Yuuri’s smile only spreads as he unhooks the clasp. Leaning forward, his arms wrap around Viktor’s neck as the chain does. Yuuri’s hands fumble blindly for a bit, causing him to giggle and kiss Viktor as he tries to clasp the necklace, but once it’s done the pendant comes to lay against Viktor’s chest. It’s mostly flat, aside from the slightly raised bump of the gemstone, and the chain is the perfect length for it to be tucked into a shirt.

It’s a sobering reminder of their need for secrecy, of the fact that Yuuri isn’t sure they could be publicly engaged without backlash. Running his hand over the pendant, wrapping his fingers around it Viktor appreciates how smooth it is, how seamless it feels. Akitsushima is renowned for its metalwork, traditionally intricate without being flashy, and that’s only reflected in the necklace now around Viktor’s neck.

Silently, almost reverently he takes the box from Yuuri. The second necklace lies in place, in a slight indent made to fit it perfectly. The silver chain runs through Viktor’s fingers as he finds and undoes the clasp, Yuuri going still as he puts his arms around his neck. The clasp is easy to manage, quickly done, but Viktor takes advantage of their proximity to kiss Yuuri again, smiling. When he looks down, Yuuri’s necklace, blue sapphire in the center, is almost a mirror image of Viktor’s.

“You’re mine,” Viktor whispers, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“I’m yours,” Yuuri replies, just as soft, as tender, as full of love and it’s almost overwhelming just how _ in love _ Viktor is. Just how much he wants Yuuri in his life and even the secrecy is worth it.  _ Yuuri _ is worth it, worth all of this, and Viktor couldn’t bring himself to regret it if he was promised the world.

 

~*~

 

Their first practice for the upcoming ball goes well, comprising of a basic runthrough of what’ll be expected of them and Minako’s assessment of their skill. When they’re done, they head out for a walk with Makkachin. The gardens are bright in the late spring sun, flowers blooming in abundance in their beds. The fountains glisten, freshly scrubbed, and butterflies flutter across the landscape.

“Your Majesty!” A guard shouts, running over. Yuuri jerks, looking at him. “Sire, we must ask you and Mr. Nikiforov to return to your rooms immediately.”

Yuuri starts moving, grasping Viktor’s hand tightly. They're flanked by two guards, moving quickly through the halls with Makkachin on their heels, and Viktor’s heart leaps into his throat. Yuuri is calm, collected, as the guard rapidly explains. A tour group lost someone, and one guard had caught a glimpse of a heavy bag going around a corner in the residential area. Once they're safe in Yuuri’s rooms, the guard bows deeply. 

“The situation, Your Majesty, doesn't seem urgent but we wish to take all precautions.”

“I understand,” Yuuri says, with a nod. 

“We will be posted outside. Please remain in your rooms.”

“I will, thank you.”

The guard leaves with a final bow, presumably moving to stand outside to keep watch. 

“Vityusha, are you ok?” Yuuri looks at him with concern written across his face. 

Still breathing hard, Viktor nods. Cool fingers cup his cheek, and Yuuri rocks forward to kiss him on the lips gently.

“We’ll be ok, Vitya. I told you, they’re being extra cautious because of the attempt when I was a kid. Someone probably just got lost.”

Viktor nods, swallowing. The adrenaline isn't so bad now, not with Yuuri whispering reassurance, and before long he finds himself starting to relax. It’s only a few minutes until there’s a knock on the door, a guard walking in shortly after. She bows deeply. “Your Majesty,” she says as she straightens up. “We’ve located the source of the threat. It’s a teenage boy, he insists he has business here with Mr. Nikiforov.”

Yuuri frowns. “Has he identified himself by name?”

“No, Your Majesty, but he’s been yelling obscenities at the staff since we apprehended him.” Yuuri raises an eyebrow at that, looking over at Viktor.

Viktor frowns. “What does he look like? What is he wearing?”

The guard gives him a disdainful look. 

“He asked you a question,” Yuuri bites out, narrowing his eyes.

Looking chastised, the guard nods. “Apologies, Your Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov. The young man is short and blonde, with a light frame. He’s wearing a leopard-print jacket and a shirt with a tiger on it.”

Yuuri looks at Viktor at that point, frowning. “You don’t think it could be…”

“Yura.” Viktor says. “It’s got to be.” He pulls out his phone, opening Instagram first. Yuri has a habit of posting his whereabouts on social media, and that’s exactly where he’d go first. The first picture on Viktor’s feed has the teenager in a small street lined with signs in Japanese, posing with a new shirt. With a tiger. He shows the picture to Yuuri, who then takes it and shows the guard.

“Is this him?” 

The guard nods. “It is, Sire.”

“It’s Yuri Plisetsky. Bring him to me, please, and be nice about it.” Yuuri dismisses the guard with a wave.

“But Sire—”

“I said bring him here.” Yuuri fixes the woman with a stern look as she backs out of the room at a deep bow.

“Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies,” she says before hurrying off.

When they’re alone, Yuuri rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “Did you know he was coming?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I’d have told you, if I did. I can’t figure out why he’d show up  _ here _ of all places.”

“We’ll have to ask.” Yuuri sighs. “I’ll have a room prepared. How far away from us do you want him?”

Viktor snorts, chuckling, before he sighs and pulls out his phone. “Whatever is closest, Lyubov, if we’re being honest. I’ll let Yakov know he’s here.”

Shouts filter through the door as Viktor finishes sending the text. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his forehead trying to ease the headache already collecting there. A frazzled attendant opens the door, before walking in and giving a bow. “Mr. Yuri Plisetsky, Your Majesty, as requested.”

Yuuri gives a short nod and two guards pull Yuri into the room, depositing him in an armchair near the fireplace. He crosses his arms and scowls at the floor.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Plisetsky,” Yuuri says, smiling.

“Sure, Katsudon.” Yuri jumps when a hand grips his shoulder, bunching up the fabric of his jacket. His eyes widen as a guard leans into his ear.

“You will address His Royal Majesty by hi—”

“There’s no need for that.” Yuuri says firmly. “I will take care of him. Leave us.”

“Sire, this child appears to be a highly volatile individual.” Viktor barely stifles a snort at that. For the most part, Yuri’s all talk when it comes to people he doesn't know.

“He won’t hurt me, he is to be treated as my guest,” Yuuri says dismissively. “I need Mr. Nikiforov’s old room prepared for Mr. Plisetsky, and his things brought up.”

“Yes, Sire,” the guards say in unison.

They back away slowly, closing the door behind them with a click. Yuuri sits on the couch opposite the armchair, gesturing for Viktor to sit at his side. Viktor crosses his legs, plastering his face with a friendly smile. 

“So, what brings you to beautiful Hasetsu, Yura?” Viktor asks cheerfully. 

“I won Junior Worlds,” he says. “Without quads.”

Something nags at the back of Viktor’s mind. There’s some reason this is important, something significant about the lack of quads. He sighs. There’s no use pretending his memory’s getting any better at this point. “With that frown on your face, I’m guessing I forgot some sort of promise I made?”

“You promised me a routine, asshole! You said you'd choreograph a program for me if I won without quads and I did!” Yuri shouts. “We’re going back to Russia!”

_ Shit.  _ Viktor remembers now. At the time, it had been a desperate attempt to keep a talented kid from destroying himself too early, but Viktor has always been taught never to make a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. He looks at Yuuri, still smiling cheerfully at the teenager. His jaw clenches, though, his fingers moving against each other quickly, and Viktor knows he's nervous. Perhaps about the confrontation, perhaps about the idea of Viktor leaving. Either way, there’s a relatively easy solution available.

“I hardly think we need to go all the way back to Russia,” Viktor says. “The rink here is quite nice!” Yuuri visibly relaxes. Yuri merely leans further back in his chair, crossing his arms. “How did you find me, Yura?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri speaks up quietly, “Google is a thing, Vitya, it’s easy enough to find out where I live. I feel the more important question is how you got all the way in  _ here.” _

“I took a tour. Snuck off.”

“I see. I'll have a discussion with my head of security. We're going to need to go over some rules before I agree officially to have you stay here.” He sits up authoritatively, leveling his gaze in Yuri’s direction.

Angry, Yuri leans forward as he shouts. “Are you fucking serious? The fuck are you playing at?!” 

“I'm not playing at all. Yura, if I can call you that?” The teen nods in response, looking sullenly at the floor as he flops back in the chair. Yuuri smiles. “Yura, what you need to understand is this is  _ not _ a game. I am not playing at King. This is an actual palace, I head an actual government. There is protocol you are required to follow if you want to stay as my guest.”

Yuuri sighs, shoulders drooping. The crown he’s wearing is removed and set on the coffee table. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees.

“I'm not doing this to be petty, I'm not doing this for fun. Your behavior as my guest directly reflects on me, personally. If you undermine my authority and get away with it, it’ll make me look pretty shitty as a ruler, and I can’t afford that.” He purses his lips, searching for the words to explain himself. 

Sighing, he continues. “Yura, when rulers are weak the most common action taken against us is revolt or assassination. I  _ cannot  _ allow myself to look weak right now.” Yuri shifts uncomfortably in his seat. A chill crawls up Viktor’s back, but he does his best to ignore it. “Vitya and Phichit are  _ both _ required to use my titles and treat me like the monarch I  _ am _ when we’re not alone or with my family. Vitya’s my boyfriend, Phichit is my best friend of almost four years. This isn’t about  _ you,  _ Yura. Unfortunately, these rules are non-negotiable as a condition of your continued stay in the palace.”

Yuuri pulls his legs up underneath him, leaning against the arm of the couch. “When we’re in private, we can be Yura and Katsudon, and we can do stupid shit and hang out and tease each other and Vitya all we want. There’s nothing I'd like more,” he says sadly. “But in public it’s different. I hate the idea more than you, believe me, but that’s how things are. I'm going to make this as easy as possible for you, and your stay as enjoyable as I can, but it can and  _ will _ be cut short if necessary. Please don't make me send you home,” he finishes, sounding exhausted.

Yuri looks out the window, hair hiding his face. “What, so I call you ‘Your Majesty’ and shit when we’re not alone?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Yuuri tries to say cheerfully. “Use titles, don’t pick fights, and try to be nice to people, especially the staff and my family. Try to behave  _ in front of _ the staff as well. We’ll let you know if there’s anything else you need to do. Stay with Viktor or myself, or a member of my family, whenever possible, and take your cues from them. When in doubt, use my title.”

Yuri makes a noise of agreement just before his stomach lets out a growl. His face turns further away, but the tip of his ear turns pink and Viktor smiles.

“I'll get you some food,” Yuuri says gently. 

“And a bath!” Yuri says. “Haven’t had a bath since St. Petersburg,” he mumbles as there’s a knock on the door. 

Yuuri puts the crown back on his head, before giving his permission for whoever it is to enter. The door opens to reveal one of Minako’s aides, and she walks in with her head held high before giving a bow. She looks at Viktor.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “I understand family is… important, however I must ask you to make it clear to your cousin that this sort of behavior, sneaking around on the palace grounds and such, will not be tolerated. The staff have better things to do than serve as substitute babysitter.” 

“He’s not my cousin,” Viktor replies. He looks at Yuri, now staring determinedly out the window. “Did you tell them you were my cousin?”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the aide says, “there’s no reason to play dumb about this. The Palace has, as you well know, done extensive research on your background and family. Despite the apparent distance between your immediate families, we know. Now please, make sure he understands how to conduct himself as a guest of the Royal Family.” She turns on her heel, leaving before Viktor has a chance to protest.

Yuri shifts uncomfortably in his chair, turning his body as far from Viktor as he can. Come to think of it, it’s awfully suspicious behavior. The Palace may have their rules, may be austere and controlling and a bit ridiculous, but they are thorough and, in Viktor’s experience, honest. Between what the woman said and how Yuri’s acting, it’s seeming more likely than outlandish, and it seems Yuri’s not quite as taken by surprise as Viktor is.

“Yura,” he says. “Yura did you know about this?”

“Know about what?”

“Yura you don’t seem surprised and you haven’t tried to yell at them. I’m not stupid enough to think the palace is lying to make a point. Are we related somehow?”

“Your mother’s grandmother,” he mutters. “She was my father’s grandmother’s sister. Apparently”

“When did you find this out?”

Yuri shrinks into his chair. “Last month when I saw my great aunt. She mentioned hearing about my cousin— you— skating as a kid, showed me your bar mitzvah photos and I recognized you. She doesn’t know, though.” They’re distant cousins, apparently, and Viktor rubs his temples and sighs as he wonders if there’s anything  _ else _ life wants to hit him with while it’s at it. Secret love child from a non-existent past relationship, maybe? Long-lost evil triplet brother? Yuuri’s arranged to be married to some prince from a far-off land? Maybe Makkachin is an alien in disguise.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Viktor asks. They’ve exchanged text in the last few weeks. Most of them were Yuri’s scathing commentary on Georgi’s costume ideas for the next season, but still. There’d been plenty of time for something like this to be mentioned.

Yuri glances at him, then Yuuri, and switches to Russian.  _ “What, so you could blab it everywhere and have people thinking I only win shit because I’m your little cousin? You’re insufferable enough as a fucking rinkmate.” _

“Speak English, don’t be rude. And I  _ know _ how to keep a secret.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri says, glaring at him. It takes everything in Viktor not to grab him, not to tell him that he knows full well what it is to keep a secret, what it is to hide something huge. He’s done it with his feelings. He’s done it with his personality, his hopes, his fears. He’s doing it right now, sitting next to the man he’s engaged to while the world remains oblivious.

“Still,” Yuri says, pulling him out of his thoughts, “even if you fucking could, can Katsudon? We all know you’d run off and tell your  _ boyfriend _ anyway.”

“Yura,” Yuuri says, and it’s bordering on frigid as he sits straight, narrows his eyes. “You do  _ not _ want to get into a game of ‘can Katsudon keep a secret.’ You  _ will _ lose.” In that moment, Viktor can see the king Yuuri’s supposed to be, that Yuuri  _ is, _ and something in him twists.

Wisely, Yuri just looks away.

A second later, Yuuri’s sitting back with a smile. “I’ll ask if my mother will make katsudon for us,” he says. “I have no doubt she’d love to make it for Viktor’s younger  _ rinkmate.” _ He punctuates the sentence with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yuri replies. “Just get me some food.”

 

Hiroko is missing when they get to the dining room, and Mari smiles and waves as they sit down.

“Is this your new friend, Yuuri?” She says with a smile.

“What?!” Yuri says angrily. “How do you—”

“She’s talking to me,” Yuuri interrupts. “ Yura, this is my sister Mari, Princess of Akitsushima. Mari, this is Yuri Plisetsky, Vitya’s rinkmate from Russia.”

“Nice to meet you, Yurio,” she laughs. 

“That’s not my name!” Yuri almost shouts.

Mari grins. “It makes things easier. How are you finding Hasetsu, Yurio?”

Yuri looks at Yuuri and sighs exasperatedly. “Why do  _ I _ get the stupid nickname?”

“I had the name first,” Yuuri says, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Aren’t there rules of hospitality or some shit? I'm a guest!”

Raising one perfect eyebrow, Yuuri gives the teenager a once-over. “You  _ are _ my guest, yes,” he says, “but I'm the king. You find someone who outranks me, and then we'll talk.”

“Whatever, Katsudon.” Yuri says.

Sighing, Yuuri gives the teen a look. “Really?”

“Wait, did he just call you ‘katsudon?’” Mari asks in disbelief. “Like. As in the food.”

“It’s too difficult to accept he has the same name as someone,” Yuuri replies with a straight face, “so he decided my favorite food was a good nickname.”

“When did this happen?”

“Russia,” Yuuri says.

“And you’re just letting him call you that?” Mari looks at the teen incredulously. “Yuuri you can’t just let some kid talk to you like that.”

Raising an eyebrow, he sets the teapot down. “I can do as I please. Anyway, we’re in private.” Flashing a withering look at Yuri, he gets his point across. The  _ only _ reason he’s not saying anything is the fact that they’re in private. 

The door opens and Hiroko walks in. Attendants with food and a fresh pot of tea follow closely, and when everyone’s served they’re left alone again. 

“Is this Vicchan’s cousin they were telling me so much about?” Hiroko asks with a smile. “You made quite the impression on the staff, I must say. I’m pleased to meet you, I’m Hiroko, Yuuri-kun’s mother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuri grumbles, staring at his food. “Yuri Plisetsky.”

“So you know, Yura,” Yuuri says, “her title is Queen Mother and her honorific is also ‘Your Majesty.’”

“She just introduced herself,” Mari says.

“Not everyone grows up knowing all this, Mari,” Yuuri says. “Yura’s going to get shit if he doesn’t know Kaa-san’s titles, which he didn’t, and I’m not setting him up for failure.”

Mari concedes the point with a nod.

Yuuri raises his eyebrow as he stares at Yuri, and when Viktor looks over he sees why. Doing his best to finagle his chopsticks into place, Yuri’s clearly having a difficult time eating, and Viktor hears a small huff as Yuuri stands, walks to the door and pokes his head out to say something. He stands still for a second, everyone at the table confused until he walks back in with a fork in hand. Kneeling back at his place, he holds the fork out to Viktor with a pointed look at Yuri. Viktor hands it over, and Yuri digs in.

Yuri breaks the silence with a gasp. “This is so fucking good,” he says, shoving pork into his mouth, “holy shit.”

Hiroko beams. “Katsudon is Yuuri-kun’s favorite dish! I’m so glad you like it.” 

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s on the ice five minutes before Yuri when they get to the rink, and he’s about to march back to the locker room when he sees his younger cousin walk out, hair pulled into a ponytail. Skating across the ice, Yuri gets a good look at the rink around them. “It’s small,” he remarks.

“It’s not a sports complex,” Viktor says, “and it will work just fine for our purposes.” He pulls the speaker remote out of his pocket. He's only got two routines he had planned for next season and he decides to give up his short program. He’ll be damned if Yuri debuts in seniors at fifteen years old with a program based on sexual love. 

“Now, the program I'm giving you is set to a different arrangement of the music I was thinking of for my free skate.”

“Matching programs? What the fuck, Viktor?”

“I never said I'd be performing the other one,” Viktor replies cheerily. 

“You’re retiring?!” He sounds more upset about the prospect than Viktor would expect. 

“I never said that, either.” Smiling, Viktor holds up the remote. “You’ll be skating to this.” Pressing play, he crosses his arms again, taking some level of delight in the way Yuri’s face changes from boredom to outright disgust.

“The fuck is this?” Yuri asks.

“It’s called On Love: Agape,” Viktor says. “Have you thought much about love before?”

He’s doing his best to keep his tone light, but Yuri’s belligerence is grating and Viktor is tired and he has another lesson with Minako this afternoon and really, he just wants to go home and curl up on his fiancé and drink something warm. The weight of the necklace on his chest is reassuring, though. He raises an eyebrow as he watches Yuri.

“No,” Yuri answers after a beat.

“What do you hear?” Viktor asks. “The music speaks, what does it say to you?”

Scowling, Yuri crosses his arms. “All light and innocent and shit, it makes me want to puke. How the fuck am I supposed to skate to  _ that _ ,” he shouts, throwing one arm to the side, “it’s nothing like me!”

“And _ that’s _ why it’s a good choice!” Viktor says. “It’s your senior debut, doing the opposite of what people expect is the only way to surprise them! It’ll certainly be a routine to remember!”

“It better be a winning one!” Yuri retorts.

“If it were me skating,” Viktor says with the surety the title of ‘Living Legend’ provides, “it would be. Whether or not _ you’ll _ be able to make it one remains to be seen. You’re far more mediocre than you think; you’ll have to put a lot more work into seniors if you want to make the podium.”

“What?!” Yuri kicks the ice with his toe pick. “And you think you’re good, Old Man?” Viktor  _ knows _ he’s good. He has the track record and experience to prove it, and that’s part of the problem, he realizes. Where’s the fun in giving people what they expect? They expect him to show up with something new, and they expect him to win the gold, and honestly that’s all the last competition season was. Score high in the short, win with the free, get the gold, repeat. There’s uncomfortably little desire in him to continue the cycle and he holds in a sigh as he widens his smile.

“I know my skills,” he says, “and I know yours. I wouldn’t be giving you this routine if I didn’t think you were capable.” It’s undeniable that Yuri has the skill needed to perform Agape. Much like Viktor, Yuri’s worked hard, has earned his place at the podium, but now that he’s going into seniors, he’s going to have to step it up. It’s an entirely different field of competition and if he’s not able to fine-tune his expressiveness and successfully integrate it into his routine, he’s not going to fare as well as he expects. There are two ways this can go: an unpleasant wake-up call, or a chance for significant growth, and it’s up to Yuri which it will be. 

Viktor gives Yuri the remote before shooing him off the ice to show him the program. The routine is both fluid and fast-paced, strenuous even for Viktor, but he performs what he has planned and marks the jumps. Those can be figured out at a later date, when he has a feel for how Yuri’s stamina is going to work with the choreography. Yuri, of course, is sure he’ll be fine.

That remains to be seen.

 

~*~

 

Tired after dance practice, Viktor smiles, throwing his arm around Yuuri before raising his phone in the air. “Velichestvo,” he says, “selfie time.”

Yuuri looks over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Selfie time?”

“Practice selfie!” Viktor grins. “That and Phichit will stop bugging us for updates if there’s something for him to repost.”

Sighing, Yuuri rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. “Best do one on each account,” he says.

“Your Majesty,” one of Minako’s aides says, walking over, “are you quite sure it’s best to be posting such frivolous pictures?”

“And why not?” Yuuri says, fixing her with a look. “I was under the impression that as long as nothing downright unsavory was posted, the palace would have little say on what I put on my social media day-to-day, especially on my personal account.”

“Yes, Sire, and I understand that, however I think a picture of this sort might give people the wrong impression.”

“What impression would that be?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Pursing her lips, the woman frowns. “Well, Sire, if everyone sees you like this,” she gestures down the length of his body, “they might think—”

“Think what?” Yuuri interrupts. “That I’m human? That maybe I need to practice things or work out? That I’m not well-dressed 24/7? I fail to see what the ‘wrong impression’ would be in this case, so unless you have a truly compelling reason as to why I shouldn’t, I’d like to take a selfie with my boyfriend and post it on my  _ personal _ social media account.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” The woman bows at the neck and backs away, taking her place once again at the edge of the room.

Yuuri navigates to his camera on his phone, and smiles at Viktor. Having pulled up Instagram himself, he grins as Yuuri kisses his nose, laying another kiss on his lips. “Selfie time?”

Viktor nods. They take their pictures, Yuuri’s free arm around Viktor’s waist, while Viktor has his free hand resting on Yuuri’s shoulder. The lighting from the wall of windows is superb, the late morning sun filtering into the room and filling it with color, and the smiles plastered across their faces are happier than Viktor’s seen in a long time, at least in public. Yuuri posts his photos, tagging Viktor. Viktor re-takes his selfies when Makkachin comes in, and the picture he posts has them kneeling with the dog, hands buried in curly brown hair.

Phichit likes both pictures almost instantly, responding with one of himself and an unamused Celestino out to a late dinner.

**@phichit+chu:** **@ccialdini** **and i say hi!!!** **@hrm-yuuri-aki** **and** **@v-nikiforov** **, detroit hasn’t been the same without you! give #makkachin scratches for me!!!**

 

The door opens behind them and Minako walks in, followed by Yuri, still in his workout clothing.

“How’s it going?” Minako says cheerfully.

“We’re just finishing up,” Yuuri replies. “How was practice?”

“Great,” Minako says even as Yuri scoffs.

“He’s doing well?” Viktor asks.

“The fuck does it matter to you? Back the fuck off,” Yuri snaps. “I don’t need you hovering over me, Shithead.”

The entire room goes still. Yuuri looks around, drawing himself to his full height. “Mr. Plisetsky,” he bites, “I’d like a word with you.” Walking towards the door, he gestures for Yuri to follow suit. Viktor puts a hand on the teen’s back, nudging him to follow, but when Yuri jerks away from him the glare Viktor’s met with is impressively disdainful. Regardless, they both follow Yuuri into a nearby sitting room, where he shuts the door and turns around.

“Yura,” he says, “you need to watch it.”

“What the fuck, Katsudon?”

“‘What the fuck’ nothing,” he retorts. “I asked you to be respectful in front of the staff, and I meant it. Vitya’s not some nobody here, he’s not someone you can just be a dick to and get away with it either. I know you guys are used to just being rinkmates, and that’s fine. In  _ private.”  _ As he crosses his arms, his fingers brush over the necklace he wears, hidden under his shirt. Viktor’s own rests heavily on his chest, too far from his hand to touch without it looking conspicuous.

“Viktor’s just a figure skater, what the fuck do they care?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri replies, “may well become their King-Consort. If  _ they’re _ going to respect him in that position,  _ we _ have to, and yelling at him like that in front of an entire room of people isn’t the way to do that. This is about far more than just yourself,” he says, “and you need to be  _ careful. _ I know you’re still upset about the whole cousins thing, but keep that to when we’re in private. Please.”

Yuri looks at the floor. “Whatever,” he mutters, defeated. 

“Yura, we’re not trying to be mean about things,” Viktor says in an attempt to lighten the mood. “We just want to—”

“Back the fuck off, Old Man, I don’t give a shit what you were trying to do. I get it, okay?!” The response is along the lines of what Viktor’d expected, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Sighing, Yuuri crosses his arms. “Just try to be less abrasive in front of everyone like that. When there’s no one around, do whatever, just… be careful, please.”

“Fine,” Yuri says, leveling Viktor with a glare that says it’s anything but. “I’m taking a shower, I’ll see you for dinner, or whatever,” he grumbles before leaving the room. There’s a moment of hesitation in which he seems to consider slamming the door behind him, but thinks better of it.

When they’re alone, Yuuri sighs heavily, leaning on Viktor. “In all honesty,” he says, “he didn’t pick the worst people to do that in front of, I just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t. Like, in the future. If he’d done that in front of actual officials or the nobility instead of the palace staff… I just needed to make sure.”

Viktor hugs him. “I know, Lyubov.”

“He seems angry with you.”

It’s Viktors turn to sigh as he buries his nose in Yuuri’s shoulder. “He does. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it has to do with being related?”

Responding with a shrug, Viktor pulls Yuuri closer. “Whatever it is,” he says, “I wish I knew.” He’d _ like _ a relationship with Yuri, for them to actually have the opportunity to be cousins but he doesn't want to steamroll his way into Yuri’s life, and he doesn’t want to drive him any further away. He cares about the kid, always has, and he feels a sort of protectiveness that comes with knowing what it’s like to be the pretty young prodigy. More than once, he’s found himself resisting the urge to snap at Lilia about her uncomfortable obsession with beauty and perfection. Yuri doesn’t need the same damage, doesn’t need to find himself chopping his hair off with a pair of scissors in a fit of anger after one too many greasy sponsors ran their fingers through it, wound it around their hands and messed it up after half an hour of painful, almost involuntary styling.

Lilia had been pissed. Viktor hadn’t cared, told them to shave it close to his neck when he went in to get it cleaned up.

Regardless, that doesn’t tell him what to do now. Back off? His attempts to foster a relationship, to maybe edge into a more familial role have, thus far, been met with nothing but backlash in the form of angry glares and aggressive contempt, Yuri doing everything in his power to keep Viktor at arm’s length even as he asks for his help. Yuri can’t hate him  _ that _ much if he’d fly across the continent to chase him down. Of course, Yuri also has a fierce competitive streak and Viktor is well-known for his choreographic prowess. A winning routine could be motivation enough, and he can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone in this world outside of Yuuri and their families who doesn’t  _ want something _ from him.

There’s only so much you can give before there’s nothing left.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes to Yuuri smacking his arm and the blaring of his phone ringtone. When he looks, it’s Alexei’s face on the screen. Confused, he swipes to answer and puts the phone to his ear.

“Lyosha?” he whispers as he crawls out of bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Vitka?”

Walking out to the sitting room, Viktor grabs his robe. “Yeah, is something up? Or did you forget it’s…” he checks his phone, “half-past five a.m., here?”

“Shit,” Alexei says, “I meant to call a different Viktor. Coworker. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine,” Viktor replies. “It’s fine. Are you at home right now?”

“Yeah, why, did you want to talk to moms?”

“No,” he says. “Well, not right now. Maybe?” Pulling his robe on, he ties it tight around his waist before going out to the balcony. Not wanting to wake Yuuri, he stays at the far end, nowhere near the entrance to the bedroom. “Yuri’s here. Yuri Plisetsky,” he says.

“What for?”

“I promised him a routine a while ago,” Viktor replies, “he was holding me to it. Which… that’s not the thing, the thing is, apparently we’re related.”

“What?”

“Our great-grandparents were siblings? Or something? He didn’t say much about it aside from saying his aunt had one of our bar mitzvah photos and he recognized me. Or, well, recognized… you know what I’m saying,” Viktor finishes. It’s not the first time they’ve been confused for each other in photos, and there are some childhood pictures where neither they nor their their mothers can tell them apart. During and after their bar mitzvah they’d both had their hair slicked back, Viktor’s in a low ponytail at the base of his neck, and unfortunately in Viktor’s picture it’s impossible to see. It hadn’t mattered at the time, they were dressed differently, but without knowing what the person in the picture was wearing, there’s no way of knowing which of them it is.

Alexei laughs. “So he saw a photo and drew that conclusion?”

“Well, his aunt said the person was his cousin and did figure skating. I only found out about it because the Palace did a background check and apparently were very thorough in their research. They told me to ‘keep my cousin in line,’” he paraphrases. Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I was going to ask moms if they knew anything about it.”

“And if they did why they didn’t tell you?”

“That, too,” Viktor sighs. “Or if they could just confirm it. I don’t have any reason to think the Palace is lying, I just…”

“I get it,” Alexei responds. “I’ll ask them about it, see if Mamulya can talk to our aunts and uncles. I’ll let you know when I know.”

Soft footsteps come up behind him, and he feels Yuuri wrap his arms around his waist, resting his head on Viktor’s back. “Thanks, Lyoshen’ka,” he replies through a yawn.

“No problem, Vitka. Go back to sleep.” Making a noise, Viktor sticks his tongue out at the phone, earning a laugh. “Sorry for waking you,” Alexei continues.

“It’s fine,” Viktor reassures, “I had to be up soon anyway for my run. Say hi to everyone?”

“I will,” Alexei says, cheerful. “Katya’s been asking for her own pair of skates, by the way.”

“Figure skates?”

“Hockey,” Alexei replies. “She wants to play ice hockey.”

“Traitor,” Viktor mutters with a smile. 

Alexei lets out a bark of a laugh. “She said you'd say that,” he says, “but seriously, I think she thinks you're going to be disappointed.”

“I won’t be. She there now?”

“Asleep, it's the middle of the night. Do you want me to have her call tomorrow?”

“No,” Viktor says as much as it makes his chest ache, “I'll be busy most of the day, my schedule’s packed between dealing with Yura and everything else that’s going on.”

“All right. Call when you can. I should call my coworker, we need to discuss a dig coming up,” Alexei says. “Planning and all that.”

“The glamorous life of an archaeologist,” Viktor chuckles. “I’ll talk to you, soon. Tell Katya I’m proud of her, and I’ll get her the skates for her birthday.”

“I’ll keep that bit a secret for now. Good night, Vitya. Well, good morning.”

Viktor laughs. “Good night.”

The call ends, and he lets himself settle into Yuuri’s arms, earning a kiss on the jaw. “What was that?” Yuuri mumbles sleepily. 

Turning around, Viktor drapes his arms loosely around Yuuri’s neck, leaning down to rest his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Lyosha called me by accident, I asked him to ask our moms about Yura. Apparently my sister’s taking up ice hockey?”

Yuuri laughs as he yawns, burying his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck. “Come back to bed,” he says. Viktor takes a glance at the clock on his phone and sighs.

“It’s almost five-thirty, our alarms are at six. We may as well stay up.”

Groaning, Yuuri nuzzles his head into Viktor’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna.”

“Come for a run with me, Lyubov?” Even though he’s not competing at the moment, Viktor likes to keep his activity levels up. Running used to be his least-favorite activity, but he learned to find solace in the time alone with his thoughts. Steady movement gives him a sense of rhythm, a different sort of peace than what he gets from skating or dance. Yuuri’s standing still, arms around Viktor’s waist as he breathes deeply. “Please?” Viktor asks.

A deep sigh, and then a nod of agreement before Yuuri pulls away. “We may as well shower after we go out, you know?”

 

Sweating and tired, Yuuri comes to a stop near a small door in the lower levels of the palace. Viktor comes up beside him, smiling and pulling Yuuri towards him for a kiss. Without hesitation, Yuuri indulges him, caressing Viktor’s cheek with his hand. “Would you like me to make coffee?” he asks.

“Mmmm I don’t want to walk all the way to the kitchens,” Viktor replies. “We can have them bring it up?”

Chuckling, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “You’ll find the walk shorter than you think,” he says. Turning to look back, he smiles just before his toe catches the end of a broken paving stone, almost sending him sprawling across the path. Viktor hurries to his side. Laughter spills from Yuuri’s throat as he reaches his arms out and grabs Viktor’s hoodie. Pulling Viktor to him, he rests his forehead on Viktor’s shoulder for a brief second. 

“I forgot about that,” he says. “That paving stone’s been tripping me up since I learned how to walk.”

A nearby guard walks over, bowing as he comes to a stop. “Your Majesty,” he says, “are you okay, Sire?” 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri says, waving him off, “thank you.”

Pulling Viktor through the door, they enter the small room in the kitchens. Elena smiles at them, gesturing towards the coffee room. Smiling, Yuuri nods his thanks and walks through while the staff do their best to avoid staring, with varying levels of success. In the safety of the small coffee room, Yuuri whips up the lattes, heavily caffeinated and perfectly sweetened, drawing a heart on top of Viktor’s before handing it over. 

They still have some time before the day really begins, so they walk back slowly, savoring their coffee as Makkachin plods gently along next to them. He’s adapting to the change just fine, excitedly exploring whatever rooms he happens to end up in, and in this case Yuuri leads them to one of Viktor’s favorite parlors, one with huge, open windows and sunlight streaming through gauzy white curtains.

Yuuri pulls them open, swings the windows wide to let in tbe fresh air of spring, and they stand together as they sip their coffee.  Makkachin finds a nice corner, curling up on an ottoman to doze.

 

They meet Yuri, Mari, and Hiroko for breakfast, after which Yuuri heads off to do whatever it is he’s supposed to do, and Viktor and Yuri head to the rink. Practice starts off well enough. With jumps planned and choreography mostly finalized, Yuri’s able to focus now on getting the feel of the music and failing miserably. Viktor, again, yells for him to stop, earning a glare.

“I’m doing it just fine,” Yuri snaps, “exactly how you showed me! What’s the fucking problem?”

“The feeling!” Viktor replies. “You’re not getting that feeling of  _ agape, _ of unconditional love, through in your skating. You’re trying to skate a winning routine, and it’s too obvious that all you’re after is the medal.”

“Isn’t that the fucking point? I know I can do this, I know I can  _ win _ with this!”

“Confidence is good,” Viktor agrees, “but not everything, and this isn’t the program to flaunt it.”

“The fuck is wrong with skating confidently? You do it all the fucking time!”

“There’s a difference between skating confidently and skating  _ with confidence. _ For this program to work, you need to get that sense of love, that innocence, and let it come through in every movement.”

“Then what the fuck  _ is _ agape? Tell me that, then!”

“It’s a  _ feeling,” _ Viktor says, “and next to impossible to put into words. It’s the love a parent has for their child, or that best friends have for each other. It’s a love that expects nothing in return. Have you thought about it at all?” 

“No,” Yuri retorts.

“That much is obvious,” Viktor replies,  smiling. “I don’t know how you expect to win if you can’t portray the right emotion. It’s a crucial part of the routine!” He grins. “I have an idea.”

 

Their impromptu trip to the local temple ends with Yuri grumbling the whole drive home, rubbing his shoulders after firm taps with a rod by one of the monks. “This is fucking stupid,” he says as they’re walking back into the palace. “The whole fucking thing is stupid.”

“Well,” Viktor laughs, “once you understand agape, it’ll be easier! Think about it some more. Think of what reminds you of that sort of love.”  _ It’s familial love, _ he wants to say, but mentioning family and thus bringing the fact that they’re related into this is only likely to make things worse. Perhaps this wasn’t the best routine to start with, in terms of subject matter, but it’s not like he has the time to come up with a new one on the fly. Already, he’s had to take less of an active role in court life than they’d planned, his sessions with Minako and occasional public engagements being cut down in favor of practices with Yuri.

Yuri scoffs, glaring at him through his hair. “Whatever. I’m going to go shower,” he mutters, stalking off.

Viktor follows a few feet behind, what with their bedrooms being in the same general direction, and when they get to the top of the stairs, Yuri turns around. “Why the fuck are you following me?”

“My bedroom’s right near yours, Yura,” he answers, “I don’t know what you expected me to do. Take a different route?”

“Why not?” Yuri snaps, turning his back and heading in the opposite direction. Viktor stands there, defeated. No matter what he’s tried over the past few days, nothing has succeeded in getting Yuri to be anything less than abrasive at best. 

“Vicchan?”

Turning, Viktor comes face to face with Hiroko. “Your Majesty,” he says, smiling.

She returns his smile. “Ms. Okukawa is here for your lessons,” she responds. 

He’d completely forgotten about the lessons. “Thank you,” he says, grinning, “I was just going to pick up the binder from my room.”

“Is everything okay?” Voice heavy with concern, she takes his hand in hers.

_ No, _ he wants to say.  _ No, Yura disliked me as it was, he hates me even more now that we know we’re related and is it such a bad thing to be related to me? Am I really that much of a burden? _ Instead, he nods. “There’s a lot on my plate, but I’m managing alright. How about yourself?”

The change in topic doesn’t escape her but thankfully she doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m doing well,” she says with a smile full of love. She gives him a hug, wishes him well, and he leaves for his lesson. 

 

By the time he finishes with Minako, it’s almost dinnertime, and they both make their way to the dining room.  “You’re doing well,” Minako says as they walk. Today they’d focused on the language, Minako working with him using a combination of workbooks, textbooks, and their own occasional conversation in Japanese. He’s got the basic writing systems down, can read anything as long as it’s written phonetically, and they’re working on kanji and more advanced sentence structures and vocabulary. Viktor has a list of children’s books to read and translate in his free time, all of which he’ll get from the library at a later point.

“His Majesty has been more than willing to practice my Japanese with me,” he says. “Mostly the native dialect,” he adds, “but we’ve touched on Standard Japanese as well.”

“That’s kind of him,” Minako replies. “He hasn’t been making you watch anime for practice, has he?”

Viktor snorts. “No, I’m sure he’d have me play video games in Japanese if he was going that route.”

“True,” she laughs. “After our session this morning, His Majesty did say he was going to play. He’s always liked video games. They suit his sense of adventure without actually  _ being _ an adventure.”

“I imagine he’s had enough adventure for a lifetime,” Viktor says absently. His hand moves to brush against the necklace he wears. He covers it by scratching his chest.

“I’d be inclined to agree,” Minako says in response.

It’s not far to the dining room, and they’re almost there when they bump into Yuuri and Yuri at the foot of the stairs.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says with a smile, hugging her before moving to kiss Viktor. “Vitya, how did everything go?”

“Well,” Viktor says. “It went well. My Japanese is getting better, apparently.”

“It is,” Yuuri says as they continue to walk. Yuri follows behind, sullen and strangely contemplative.

“Were you two hanging out?” Viktor asks.

“We played some video games, chatted a bit,” Yuuri says. “Yura kicked my ass a couple of times, he’s better at Mario Kart than you are.” There’s a snort from behind them, but Yuri doesn’t say anything. They’re first to the dining room, taking their places at the table as an attendant brings in tea. They’re joined shortly by Hiroko, and then by Mari a few minutes after that. Chatting animatedly, Minako and Hiroko discuss their days, chat about their time together in school. Yuuri, clearly tired with dark circles under his eyes, is mostly quiet, Yuri even moreso, and it’s impossible to avoid wondering what it was they talked about.

“Is everything okay?” he asks Yuuri as their dishes are cleared for dessert.

“What?” he jerks his head up, looking him in the eye. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just tired.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of melancholy under the surface. His eyes flick to Yuri, but his smile widens as he looks back at Viktor. “Do you want to go to the baths tonight?”

“That sounds like it’d be nice,” Viktor responds.

“You should join us, Yura,” Yuuri says.

Yuri looks in between them and shrugs. “Sure. Whatever,” he replies, looking back down at the table. The lack of protest on his part is somewhat surprising, Viktor having expected some sort of refusal to be in his presence for longer than is strictly necessary, but it’s strangely nice. Whether it’s indicative of a change in their relationship or just exhaustion it’s hard to tell, but Viktor’ll take it over the scathing remarks Yuri seems to have in abundance.

Viktor smiles. “It’ll be fun!”

Grinning, Yuuri nods. “Staff  _ has _ asked that we keep Makkachin out of the bath, though. His fur’s getting into the filters and while it hasn’t been much, they don’t want it to cause problems down the line.”

“We can leave him inside,” Viktor says. “He’ll live.”

Dessert is a sort of fruit tart, made from fresh, seasonal fruits and sweetened just enough to bring out the flavors. Much of their food has been consistently healthy. He’s not sure whether it’s just the Royal Family’s typical fare or the chef making accommodations for Viktor and Yuri’s athletic diets, but either way, he’s grateful.

 

The bath is warm and soothing, the smell of the minerals is heavy in the steam rising off the water. Yuuri and Viktor sit fairly close together, Yuri just a few feet away, and the silence is comfortable. A welcome change to the tense, oppressive silences from the last week. Strangely, Yuri keeps glancing at Viktor through his hair with a contemplative look on his face. Aside from that, it’s impossible to tell what he may be thinking about. Viktor sighs, sinking a bit further into the water.

“What’s on your mind?” Yuuri asks, voice gentle.

“Nothing, really,” Viktor answers with a glance at Yuri. His fiancé nods, shifting closer.

“It’s nice,” Yuuri comments, looking up at the sky. “Being out here in this weather,” he clarifies.

Viktor makes a noise of agreement. “It is. We should come out here more often,” he says. The night is quiet, the sound of water gently lapping at the rocks providing soothing background noise as they soak.

 

The walk back in is just as quiet, and when they stop by Yuri’s room he says goodnight without any attitude whatsoever, instead just closing the door gently behind him. When they get to their bedroom, Viktor and Yuuri are accosted by Makkachin, who stays near one or both of them as they get ready for bed.

“What did you two talk about?” Viktor asks as he lays on the bed in his underwear, running his fingers through Makka’s fur.

“Not much,” Yuuri says as he pulls on shorts and a t-shirt. “He talked about his grandpa some, I talked about… growing up. My dad, a bit. It wasn’t really anything big.” Turning off the lights, he crawls into bed next to Viktor. There’s a hitch in his breath. He holds it for a second, then lets it out shakily when Viktor feels a tug on the front of his shirt. He moves forward to wrap his arms around Yuuri. Burying his face in Viktor’s chest, Yuuri holds onto him, slotting one of his legs between Viktor’s and pressing his body against him.

“I didn’t get to know him,” he whispers. 

“Your dad?” Viktor asks, kissing his temple.

Yuuri nods. “I never got the chance to  _ know _ him and I’ll n-never get the chance to properly  _ mourn _ him and I hate that that was taken.” Crying now, he curls up as best he can against Viktor. “I hate that I miss what we  _ could have had _ more than what we  _ did.” _

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into his fiancé’s back, “I’m so sorry.”

“What I hate most of all,” Yuuri says, barely audible even in the quiet of the room, “is that if I’d come back earlier I wouldn’t have met you, and I don’t know which is worse.”

Kissing Yuuri’s forehead, Viktor pulls him even closer. He has no response. Life without Yuuri is impossible to fathom. Going to the café was one of the best decisions Viktor’s ever made and he wouldn’t give this up for the world. If Yuuri’d gone home, though, he wouldn’t be suffering like this. Wouldn’t be missing someone he barely remembers, lost as he does his best to govern a still barely-familiar country. He wouldn’t have to be fighting so hard for even the most basic respect, walking a knife’s edge every waking moment as he navigates the tenuous politics of court and Viktor feels tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. It’s so incredibly hard to see someone he loves in pain like this. Doing his best to offer what comfort he can, he holds Yuuri, rubs his back, caresses his hair as he whispers love until they fall asleep.

 

~*~

 

Standing near the conference room, Viktor absently checks his phone. Yuuri’d texted a few minutes ago, saying the meeting was wrapping up and he’d be available after, if Viktor wanted to see him before dinner, but so far there’s been only a slow trickle of people leaving the room. Most of them allow their eyes to slide over Viktor, as if he’s just another part of the background, but a few nod, some smile at him, and he keeps a pleasant expression on his face. Good impressions are important.

An older gentleman comes out followed by a small entourage, and as he adjusts his haori his eyes come to rest on Viktor. He glances back into the conference room, before walking over. “Mr. Nikiforov,” he says briskly. The entourage stays near the doors save one valet who stays at the nobleman’s side, though Viktor can feel them watching the exchange. “Mr. Nikiforov if I could have a word?”

As soon as he nods, the man gestures for Viktor to follow him. They end up in a smaller conference room, and when the door is closed firmly behind them, he turns abruptly. “There’s an urgent matter to be discussed, Mr. Nikiforov, and I would appreciate your willing cooperation.”

“What is it?” Warning bells start going off in Viktor’s head. There’s no reason for this man to approach him, he has no say in any of the politics of court, no title, no influence beyond being Yuuri's boyfriend, as far as the man knows, and Yuuri's not one to allow himself to be controlled, even by a loved one.

“Well, Mr. Nikiforov, I don’t mean to cause offence but I'm sure I'll be able to impress upon you the difficulty of my present situation.”

Viktor raises one eyebrow, schooling his face into a neutral position. His default used to be a smile, he notes, instead of an expression of aloof impassivity.

“You see, as a member of the nobility, it is my duty to uphold the sanctity of this nation. It is my duty, sir, to help maintain our traditions and our integrity.” Viktor’s about to snap at him to get to the point, but he barrels on. “While we serve the citizenry of Akitsushima, our primary duty is the protection of our sovereign and the Royal Family. For centuries, we have been a proud and noble people, resisting those who would rule us and ensuring the future will not be muddied by outside influence. It would be uncouth for the King to have relations with those… not of a certain caliber.”

A sinking pit grows in Viktor’s gut, spreading icy tendrils up his spine. Yuuri was right. Viktor still isn’t welcomed here, not by the nobility. He throws on his most disarmingly cheerful smile. “I'm not quite sure what you’re trying to say,  _ sir,” _ he says through his teeth.

“If I may speak plainly, Mr. Nikiforov, you have neither the status nor the lineage of someone we would consider a good partner for His Royal Majesty. To allow him to continue any longer with this dalliance would be to encourage Akitsushima’s ruin. It would behoove you,  _ sir,  _ to remove yourself from this fantasy wherein you believe yourself worthy of the attentions of your betters. You are a  _ figure skater, _ Mr. Nikiforov. Nothing more.”

“Russia holds me in the highest esteem,” Viktor says icily. Two can play at this game, and Viktor’s been sweet-talking the press since he was twelve. “Should something unusual happen to  _ Russia’s National Hero _ while I'm in the care of your  _ king,  _ I'm sure there would be questions that you might not be keen on answering.” The noble’s eyes widen in shock, and Viktor plows on. “It would only make  _ your nation, _ and by extension,  _ sir,  _ your  _ King, _ look bad in the international eye.” He can be a bit petty sometimes. He’s not actually sure what lengths Russia will go to should something happen to him, but at the very least there would be an uproar.

The noble’s face darkens as he glares at Viktor. “I will rephrase. It is in  _ your _ best interests to remove yourself from the attentions of His Royal Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov. While this is merely a warning, I will not accept responsibility for what should happen if you don’t. This is the last we will speak on this topic, and I strongly advise you to keep our little discussion to yourself.” He turns on his heel, marching out of the room with his valet scurrying behind him, flashing Viktor a glare before they disappear down the hall.

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d known something like this was a possibility, but now that he's actually  _ in  _ this sort of situation, he has no idea what to do. He should go straight to Yuuri, but he's been so  _ worried,  _ lately, so exhausted that he doesn’t need something like this added to his plate. At the same time, though, Yuuri would know best what to do. Yuuri has the  _ power _ to do something. When and how to broach the subject, though, is something Viktor still needs to figure out. Pulling out his phone, he texts Yuuri saying he’ll be in the gardens and heads that way, but every shadow, every nook has him looking over his shoulder. Where once he saw only the opulence of royalty, he now sees places for an assassin to hide, features of the architecture that could be used to hurt him. Chandeliers sway dangerously overhead, paintings threaten to jump off the walls.

“Hey, asshole!” The shout drags him out of his thoughts

Barely managing to get a sigh in before he turns around, Viktor puts on his best smile, the one he saves for fan meetups and the press. Nothing else has worked so far. “What is it, Yura?” Crossing his arms over his chest he cocks his hip, looking at his little cousin, and his dog next to him.

Yuri looks at him for a second. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says, with less vitriol than usual. Viktor starts walking again, letting Yuri scurry to keep up. Makkachin falls into step beside him, and he heads towards the exit.

“I was just heading out to the gardens,” Viktor says, “they’re starting to bloom beautifully this time of year!” 

Making a disgruntled noise, Yuri follows closely as they go down a hall and through a set of side doors into the private gardens. Makkachin trots off to take care of his business, and Viktor closes his eyes in the sunlight, taking a moment to savor the spring breeze. 

“The fuck were you doing?” Yuri asks in a harsh whisper. “I was looking for you and no one knew where the fuck you were.”

_ Getting threatened.  _ Turning around, Viktor makes sure he’s wearing his best smile. “I was taking a little stroll, I'm not quite used to the Palace yet and I got a little bit lost for a second there!” 

“The fuck is up with you?”

Viktor lets his face fall, but not much. “I'm a bit tired, to be honest. Not enough coffee this morning. We should go to the kitchens! I bet they’ll have coffee. Maybe some cookies, too.”

“Can you cut that shit out already? You're weirding me out with that fake cheeriness bullshit, it's disgusting.”

Shoulders settling into defeat, Viktor sighs. 

“Then what do you  _ want, _ Yura?” He crosses his arms, looking down at the teen. “I tried being friendly, and you hated that. I tried treating you like I do strangers and now you’re  _ mad _ at me. I can’t be who you need me to if I have no idea who that  _ is!” _

Yuri looks at him. Sometimes Viktor wishes it wasn't so hard to read him, to figure out how he feels but Yuri’s been prickly from the start, even more so recently over text. Viktor sighs. “Yura, I don't know how you want to go about doing this. You hate being related to me and that’s… I can live with that. I’m not going to force you to act like my little cousin but I’d rather not be constantly fighting with you. We don’t ever have to mention it again if that’s what you want.” It’s uncomfortable how hurt he sounds, how sad, and he sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

A complicated mixture of emotions ripples across Yuri’s face and Viktor can’t quite register which he’s seeing before it shifts. Finally settling into a scowl, Yuri looks at the ground, kicking the dirt. “I don’t want to just be Viktor Nikiforov’s little fucking cousin. I’ve  _ earned _ my medals.” Unpleasant, probably unintentional implications aside, Viktor’s starting to see the problem. For all his prickliness, Yuri’s consistently sought out Viktor’s presence over the years, and even today’s no different, but he’s always fiercely rejected comparisons between them.

“We can keep it between us, too, if you want. No one has to know. Not the public, not Yakov or Lilia or our rinkmates. We can keep going like it’s always been, except now we know we’re cousins.” Looking up, Yuri’s face softens. At this point, Viktor will gladly take going back to how they used to be. Yuri’s belligerence, while consistent, was at least friendlier than the silence Viktor’s been met with much of the time over the last few days.

“Can Katsudon and his family shut the fuck up about it too?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies. He knows Yuuri’s family wouldn’t mind asking it to be kept quiet, and Yuuri himself would never betray anyone’s trust like that. 

Skeptical, Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Yura,” Viktor takes a deep breath. He’s exhausted and he knows it’s showing on his face because instead of looking irritated, Yuri has the decency to appear only mildly disinterested. “Yuuri was in hiding when he came to Russia.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Viktor, I know that.”

“Will you listen to me? This wasn’t just a short ‘Prince in Disguise’ thing like you see in the movies. This was fifteen years— your  _ entire lifetime— _ where there were  _ two _ people he could talk to on a regular basis who knew who he was. Everyone else? No idea, and he had to keep it that way to stay alive. Trust me when I say he won’t tell anyone you don’t want him to.” 

“What about you?”

“I don’t care who knows. My family knows, but I can make sure they know you don’t want everyone knowing. Other than that it’s up to you.”

“Why?”

“Because, believe it or not, I care about you, and I can see why you wouldn’t want to be accused of riding my coattails. It’s not unreasonable to want something like this kept private, what’s  _ unreasonable _ is expecting me to read your mind about it.” At the end of his rope, Viktor’s finding it increasingly harder to have the same endless patience he’s had in the past. Endless indeed. 

He looks at his cousin, staring at the ground looking every minute of his fifteen years and no more, and he sits on a bench nearby. “Yura,” he says, “you decide where this goes. Whatever you choose, I’ll respect that. I just need to know where we stand. I need to know what you want. Coach? Rinkmate? Friend? Cousin? What do you want me to be to you?”

“Just don’t talk about it with anyone,” Yuri mutters, sitting next to him. The answer is infuriating in its ambiguity, but Viktor doesn’t want to push further than he already has. “Other than that,” he continues, “do whatever.” Cheeks slightly flushed, Yuri looks at the ground but doesn’t move away.

“Do you want me to just act like we’re rinkmates?”

“I never said that,” Yuri says, looking away, “but in front of everyone, yeah.”

Viktor smiles. It’s the closest thing to a direct answer he’s going to get, and he’s honestly thankful that a surefire way to get Yuri to tell you if he wants something is to say a statement to the contrary. “I’ll tell Yuuri to have it kept quiet,” he says. “Don’t worry about that.”

A door across the gardens opens, then closes behind Yuuri before he makes his way over. “Vitya,” he says, drawing close. “Yura,” he nods. “Is everything alright?”

Post-argument tension as heavy as it is, Viktor isn't surprised Yuuri picked up on it. “Lyubov,” he says, getting up, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course, Vityusha,” Yuuri replies as Viktor comes to stand in front of him. 

“I need you to make sure Yura being my cousin isn't made public knowledge.”

“Like purge records or—”

“No, no, you don’t have to go that far. Just tell everyone not to talk about it. We don't want it spread.”

Yuuri glances over at Yuri, who’s looking grumpily back, and nods his head. “I'll direct my staff not to mention it to anyone outside of ourselves. I’m pretty sure my family won’t say anything, but I'll tell them as well. Your secret is safe,” he says, meeting Yuri’s eyes. “You have my word.”

Makkachin trots back over, begging attention by nosing at Yuri’s hands. He lets himself scratch his chin, smiling as Makka’s tongue lolls happily out of his mouth. Wrapping his arms around Viktor, Yuuri kisses him. “Everything okay?” he whispers. 

Nodding, Viktor rests his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders, his head against Yuuri’s neck. Briefly, they stay like this before Yuuri kisses Viktor’s hair. “I love you,” he breathes. Returning the kiss on Yuuri’s nose, Viktor smiles. It's small, tired, but it's genuine. 

“I love you, too,” he replies. “To dinner?”

Yuuri nods. “To dinner.”

 

~*~

 

Groggily, Viktor sits up in the dark of their bedroom. Rubbing his eyes, he reaches over to wrap his arm around Yuuri, only for his hand to meet empty blankets. Swinging his legs over the side, he pushes his feet into the slippers laying next to the bed and puts his robe on. Padding out to the sitting room, he sees it empty in the low light, but one of the glass doors is sitting open.

“Lyubov?” he calls, voice hoarse with the remnants of sleep. There’s a distant set of footsteps before Yuuri pops his head in from the balcony.

“Vityusha,” he says, smiling sleepily as he shuffles into the room, “did I wake you?”

“No,” Viktor smiles, meeting Yuuri near the door. He kisses his forehead, softly. “What’s on your mind, Yuuri?” Sleep has been an issue for Yuuri since well before he took the throne, but it’d been getting better recently, as he’d adapted to being back home and fallen into the swing of things.

With a shuddering sigh, Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s chest. “Do you think they’ll get mad if I cancel the ball?”

Ahh. It’s the dancing. Recent ballroom practices have ended with Yuuri frustrated after countless missteps, and today’s practice had been bad enough to leave him close to tears. Kissing the whorl of Yuuri’s hair, Viktor rubs his back. “Probably,” he says softly. 

Yuuri grumbles. “They shouldn’t. It’s my ball, it should be my choice.”

Pulling back, Viktor smiles. “I have an idea.” He runs quickly into the bedroom, taking a moment to throw on a shirt before grabbing his phone and bluetooth speaker. He’s quickly moving music to a new playlist when he walks back into the bedroom. Yuuri’s standing where Viktor left him, almost ethereal against the backdrop of the moonlit night in the windows behind him. He comes to stand in front of him.

“What was that about, Vitya?” Yuuri asks.

“Take me to one of the smaller ballrooms, Yuuri,” is all Viktor offers by way of reply. Yuuri looks at him skeptically, before pulling his robe tight and tying it closed. He leads the way in silence, Viktor still rearranging music on his phone, and in short order, they’re standing in a large room. Yuuri assures him, seeing his wide eyes, that this is in fact the smallest ballroom available. 

 

It’s late enough that most of the staff should be sleeping, save the night guard, and they won’t bother them if Yuuri tells them not to, so he does. Viktor pulls him into the room, closing the door behind them, and sets up his bluetooth speakers on a tabletop. Plugging his phone in, he starts the music.

The first song is soft, slow, and he walks over to Yuuri, taking both hands in his. “Dance with me?”

Yuuri looks up at him, pouting, but affectionate. “That’s all we’ve been  _ doing _ today, Vitya. Dancing.”

“Humor me,” he says with a smile.

Blushing, Yuuri steps towards him, and he sees the silver of the necklace chain vanishing under Yuuri’s collar. Then end up in front of each other, close enough for Viktor to steal two kisses without much trouble, before he pulls Yuuri close and sways, turning them in lazy circles.

“I thought we were practicing,” Yuuri mutters into his shirt.

“We’re dancing,” Viktor replies. “It’s not practice you need, Lyubov. You  _ have _ the skills, I’ve seen them. What is it that’s holding you back?”

Yuuri sighs, pulling back slightly. He reaches his left hand out, taking Viktor’s right with it, and puts his right arm in position for a waltz. Viktor rests his left arm on Yuuri’s, smiling as they start moving. 

“I guess… I’m nervous,” Yuuri says, “about messing up. I… I can’t afford to, and if I make mistakes dancing and trip you up… it’ll reflect on you, and I wouldn’t be able to take being the person to turn public opinion against you.” His voice catches in his throat, and Viktor kisses his forehead softly. 

“Yuuri, you’re an incredible dancer, it’s undeniable. The things you can do on the dance floor…” he grins as he trails off, leaning close to Yuuri’s ear. “The things you can do on a pole…” he says, voice just a bit lower than usual. 

Where Viktor expects Yuuri to act coy, he’s surprised when Yuuri jerks back, blushing a furious red. “H-how did you know about that?!” He stammers. “I never told you anything about…”

“You seriously don't remember?”

“Remember  _ what?!” _ He looks around nervously, as if someone’s listening in.

“The… the party, Yuuri! The frat party?”

Yuuri hides his face in his hands. “Oh my god. No, no I don’t, what did I  _ do? _ Why were you even  _ there?” _

Viktor pulls him close. “Well. I got the address from Phichit because I wanted to apologize for upsetting you, but he didn’t realize you’d get so drunk so quickly! So by the time I got there you were trashed, half naked and on a pole, doing the most impressive Superman I’ve seen, by the way,” Yuuri squeaks endearingly, “and then you fell off when you saw me. We danced after that, though it wasn’t quite ballroom.” When he looks down, smiling affectionately, Yuuri's peeking through his fingers. “I called you my Prince Charming, and then you asked me to be  _ your _ prince and…” he trails off as realization hits him. “You weren’t about to puke. Phichit was trying to shut you up.”

“What?” Yuuri's looking at him fully now, hands near his chest. His fingers brush over the pendant. Viktor smiles.

“You asked me to be your prince,” he explains, “and said you’d be  _ my _ prince any day of the week. I thought that was weird but you were trashed, so I didn’t question it.” Yuuri's eyebrows vanish behind his bangs, eyes widening. “You went on after that, but Phichit yanked you away. You looked like you might have been about to throw up, but otherwise, you were perfectly fine. I’ll bet Phichit was trying to keep you from saying something.”

“Oh my god.” Yuuri's hiding his face again, this time against Viktor’s shoulder. “I remember the first hour or so of the party. Wicked hangover the next day. Work sucked, even without having to say goodbye to you.”

“I can imagine,” Viktor says. He rubs circles on Yuuri's back. 

“I pole danced?” he asks quietly.

Viktor nods. “You did.”

“And I fell?”

“You were upside-down and tried to wave at me.”

Yuuri sighs, leaning against Viktor. His arms curl around Viktor’s torso, their bodies fitting together perfectly. “I don’t remember our first dance.” He says, sounding sad. Viktor lays a gentle kiss on his hair.

“We’ll make the ball a dance to remember, Lyubov,” Viktor responds. Yuuri nods into his shoulder as they move in slow circles.

 

When they stop, the faintest traces of pink are just beginning to creep across the sky. Yuuri takes them back to the room, before grabbing their robes and putting his own on. “Vityusha, come on,” he says quietly.

“Where are we going?” Viktor asks, pulling his robe on and tying it loosely around his hips.

Yuuri looks over his shoulder with a smirk. “I didn’t ask questions earlier, you don’t ask questions now.”

Laughing, Viktor comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist before kissing the nape of his neck. “Fine, Lyubov,” he says, following good-naturedly. They travel the halls, dipping through sitting rooms and parlor, walls lined with pictures and others filled with shelves or displays. They end up in the small wooden staircase leading down to the kitchens, and Viktor smiles.

Upon entering, they find only a few of the staff in the main kitchen, most pulling in fresh deliveries needed for the day’s meals. Chef Elena smiles at them, gesturing towards the coffee room when Yuuri looks at her with raised eyebrows. Pulling him through the door, Yuuri closes it behind him, before he looks up with a smile.

“What can I get for you today, My Liege?” he asks with a twinkle in his eyes. Viktor pulls him forward again, laying a kiss on his nose and forehead before pulling back, grinning.

“I’ll take a Raf, if that’s still on the menu?”

“It absolutely is, Vityusha,” Yuuri says, kissing Viktor’s chin. 

Before he gets started there’s a small knock on the door. Yuuri glances over, down at his robe and back up, and goes to answer. When it’s opened, the chef comes in with a bundle in a small basket. Setting it down, she smiles.

“I’ve brought some pastries, Majesty, to go with your coffee.”

Yuuri beams when he looks in. “Thank you,” he says. “It all looks delicious.”

Chef Elena nods before taking her leave. Yuuri grabs two ceramic travel mugs, setting them next to the espresso machine before taking off his robe.

“Will you hold this?” he asks, and Viktor takes it with a smile. Yuuri makes short work of preparing their coffee, hearts drawn into the foam that tops each drink, and once he’s cleaned up after himself and re-tied his robe, he grins. “Do you want to watch the sunrise before we have to get ready for our thing?”

Taking Yuuri’s hand, Viktor nods.

 

They end up on a balcony overlooking the gardens, the warmth of a fire in the sitting room behind them. The basket of pastries sits on a small table in front of them as they sit on a padded bench, wrapped in a blanket with warm coffee in their hands. Makkachin had elected to stay near the fire, and Viktor was happy to leave him there. Sitting in silence, they lean on each other, sipping their drinks and taking bites of pastry in between stolen kisses, content to listen together as the world wakes around them.

 

~*~

 

Tucking his necklace into his shirt, Viktor finishes doing the last few buttons before buttoning his waistcoat.

“What the fuck are you dressed up for?” Yuri asks from behind Viktor. 

“You really ought to learn to knock,” Viktor mutters. 

“You’re wearing a suit,” Yuri replies. 

Viktor finishes adjusting tying his tie, pulling his waistcoat into position as he stands up straight. “I am.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “You’re wearing a necklace too, what the fuck?”

He’d hoped Yuri hadn’t seen that. Turning around, he smiles “It was a gift,” he says, “Akitsushima’s known for its metalwork, and Yuuri had this commissioned as a present.” He hopes playing it off as a mere trinket is enough. Unlike the vast majority of the people at the Palace, Yuri knows he doesn’t wear jewelry like this on a regular basis. Running a comb through his hair, he lets the pomade hold it in place. “And if you must know,” he says, turning around, “Yuuri and I are having lunch with someone. A Duke who lives nearby.”

“The fuck am I supposed to do while you're gone?” Crossing his arms, Yuri leans against the door frame

“Go for a run or something, I guess,” Viktor says. “Yuuri’s said you could play video games, you have your computer. Just let Makkachin stay with you.”

“Isn’t there some sort of royal dogsitter or some shit?” he asks, as the door to the bathroom opens.

Yuuri walks out, a towel around his waist with his hair gelled back, and looks the teenager up and down. “Is there a reason you’re in our bedroom?” There’s a jolt of happiness when Yuuri refers to it as  _ their _ bedroom, and Viktor smiles even as Yuri sticks out his tongue. Turning back to the mirror, he makes sure everything is in place.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Says the person still standing here right after I’ve gotten out of the shower.” 

“You’re the one in a towel,” Yuri snaps.

“I’m also in my  _ bedroom,” _ Yuuri replies. “What do you want?”

Yuri’s eyes come to rest on the necklace Yuuri’s wearing. “Wait holy shit what the fuck?” Eyes wide, Yuuri glances down.

“What the fuck what?” Trying to feign ignorance, Yuuri glances at Viktor, biting the inside of his lip. He knows Yuri’s seen the necklace, and if he’d overheard, he might know Yuri had noticed Viktor’s as well. Somehow it feels like Viktor should have accounted for this, for the fact that half the time Yuri doesn’t seem to know what actual boundaries are. Knocking, apparently, is one of them.

“You two have matching fucking necklaces? Viktor what the fuck is this?!”

“A promise,” Viktor mutters. Too loudly, apparently.

“What the fuck do you  _ mean _ ‘a promise?’ Are you two fucking engaged on the sly or some shit?!”

_ Fuck. _ He hadn’t expected Yuri to pick up on his slip-up, but the kid’s smarter than a lot of people give him credit for. Doing his best to cover his nerves, Viktor laughs it off. “Of  _ course _ not, that’d make people  _ angry,” _ he says, hoping Yuri gets the hint.

_ Stop. Stop talking about this. _

Glancing around furtively, Yuuri sighs and tightens his grip on his towel, walking over to the teenager. “You’re right,” he whispers, barely loud enough for Viktor to hear. “But you can’t say anything about it, Yura.  _ No one _ can know, I’m serious.” It’s an almost astounding display of trust. It would be hard to pass it off as a joke if Yuri messes up, and Viktor feels a spike in his nerves. Instead of the protest he’s expecting, Yuri nods. There’s a moment of quiet, where the only thing they can hear is gentle creaking as the palace settles around them, before Yuri flips his hair, turning to look out the window.

“At least stop calling it a promise,” he hisses, “it’s too fucking obvious. Anyway, I’m bored.”

“There’re no shortage of things to do here. Go for a run or something?” Yuuri suggests.

“I can’t fucking believe you!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Yuuri says, pulling a traditional outfit out of his wardrobe and laying it to the side. “We have a library, a media room, a gym, a dance studio, you literally have a list of shit you can do here, and you’re asking me.”

“You fuckin’ live here, I figured you’d know.”

Yuuri looks back at him. “I also don’t have any free time. There’s nothing I would suggest for you to do that’s not already on the list. Go watch something with my mom or something, she likes old movies.” Grabbing a pair of boxer-briefs, he vanishes into the bathroom to put them on. 

“You're ok with the politics shit?” he asks Viktor.

“Interestingly enough,” Viktor says, “I am. Anyways, it's just lunch. Nothing big.”

“Why are  _ you _ going though?”

“Because, as I'm Yuuri’s boyfriend, we were  _ both  _ invited.”

Yuuri walks back out of the bathroom wearing his underwear. Stopping, he looks at Yuri again.

“You’re still here?”

“Shut the fuck up, Katsudon, I’m talking to Viktor.”

Shrugging, Yuuri walks over, pulling on a grey undershirt. “You could go out to the baths,” he says as he tucks his necklace into the folds. “The ones we used are for the Royal Family, so no one else will have access. I mean, aside from my mother and sister.” A burgundy shirt comes next. “We have a pool.” He pulls his pants on, tying the closure before checking his reflection in the mirror. 

“You could read in the library,” Viktor suggests. “They have books in Russian, too, if you prefer.” Yuuri vanishes into the closet.

“I can read on my phone. You’re no help. Katsudon, you’re no help either,” Yuri says, crossing his arms.

Yuuri looks up as he walks out of the closet with a leather case. “You’re fifteen, you should be able to be left alone for a few hours. See if Mari will take you to play ping-pong or something, she’s ridiculously good.”

“I don't need to be babysat by your fucking  _ sister,  _ Katsudon.”

Opening the case, Yuuri pulls out an intricate silver crown. It’s short, barely two inches high at its peak and unadorned with jewels, but the delicacy of the metalwork makes enough of a statement. “I wasn’t saying she’d be babysitting you, I was saying she’d kick your ass at ping-pong if you were that bored. Go explore or something.”

“This is a fuckin’ palace, do you have secret passages?”

“Yes,” Yuuri replies, brushing a piece of hair back into place with his fingers. 

“Can I go in them?”

“Only if Mari or my mother is with you,” Yuuri says, walking over to the mirror. He lines up the peak of the crown with his nose, lowering it onto his head carefully. “They’re a security feature and you’ll get lost.”

“I won’t get lost,” Yuri says.

“I have half a mind to stick you in there and tell you to find your way out,” Yuuri mutters. “Anyway,” he says clearly, “even I get lost, so even if I  _ could _ just let you run around the passages, I wouldn’t.”

“Aren’t you literally King? You can let me do whatever the fuck I want.”

“I’m not going to abuse my power because you want to run around in the walls, it doesn’t work like that.”

Yuri grumbles. “Whatever.”

Checking the clock, Yuuri takes one last glance at the mirror, adjusts his sleeves and nods. “It's time to head out,” he says, grabbing his boots and carrying them to the padded bench near the main door. Viktor follows, shoes in hand, and Yuri pads over in his socks.

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“Long enough to eat lunch and come back,” Yuuri says as he fastens his boots.

“He’s going to miss us,” Viktor says.

“No way in hell am I gonna miss you fucks.”

Makkachin makes his way over, nosing at Yuuri’s hand until he gets his attention. Yuuri smiles, using both hands to scratch Makka under his chin and around his ears, running his fingers through the dog’s fur before kissing him on the forehead.

“Are you gonna be good while we’re gone?” Yuuri asks, smiling. “You gonna hang out with Yura and not eat any ping pong balls if there ends up being some? They’re not good for you, you know.” Makka swipes his tongue up Yuuri’s face, panting happily when Yuuri scratches him vigorously before finishing the closures on his boots.

After tying his own shoes, Viktor stands, giving Yuuri a kiss. “You look wonderful, Lyubov,” he says. “Absolutely splendid.”

Grinning, Yuuri pecks him on the lips again. “You’re looking pretty good yourself,” he says, blushing.

Viktor brushes the back of his hand across Yuuri’s cheek, staring fondly into his eyes. Pulling out his lip balm, he opens it and dips a finger in. More out of habit than anything else at this point, Yuuri opens his mouth slightly, letting Viktor apply the lip balm before rubbing his lips together. Eyes sparkling, Yuuri allows himself to be kissed again, first on the nose, and then the lips before he chuckles and adjusts Viktor’s tie. 

“You’re fucking disgusting how the fuck am I related to you?” Yuri grumbles. Viktor looks over at him, surprise and happiness and relief coursing through him at the acknowledgement of their relation, even as Yuri levels him with a glare. “Don’t you assholes have somewhere to go?”

Smiling at his little cousin, Viktor nods. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I think my mom or sister will get you, or have someone get you, for lunch,” Yuuri says. 

“Yeah, okay.” Yuri follows them to the back doors under guise of letting Makkachin be Viktor’s problem for as long as possible. Viktor’s more than happy to humor him.

 

~*~

 

They pull up in front of a private residence. Large, traditional, it towers over the carefully manicured landscape surrounding it. There’s a man in an ornate kimono and hakama outside, standing proudly next to a woman with an equally ornate kimono on. Next to them is a small line of uniformed staff, all standing at attention as the car comes to a stop. When the door is opened, Yuuri gets out first. Viktor follows closely behind. As they approach, all present bow at the waist. 

“Your Royal Majesty,” the man says with another bow, “Welcome.”

“Duke Nakamura,” Yuuri says, “we appreciate the invitation to your lovely home. I’d like to formally introduce you to my partner, Mr. Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor, Duke Nakamura Kosuke and his wife, Hitomi.”

“A pleasure,” Viktor replies with a short bow in their direction.

“Indeed,” the Duke says. “An absolute joy.” It seems tacked on at the end, almost an afterthought, and the way Yuuri’s lips tighten say he doesn’t miss it. They’re taken inside, through lavish halls seemingly designed to emphasize the status of the family residing in them. It’s almost gaudy, Viktor thinks to himself, but falls just short. 

The dining room they’re taken to is small but formal, the table within set with four place settings. Their host takes his place at the head of the table, Yuuri at his right as the guest of honor. Hitomi sits to Yuuri’s right and Viktor is placed next to the Duke, on the opposite side of the table from Yuuri. Once Yuuri sits, everyone follows suit, and immediately someone comes out to pour the wine.

“Your Majesty,” Nakamura says, “once again, I would like to welcome you to our home. Today we have a Western-style meal planned for you and your partner.”

“I look forward to it,” Yuuri replies, taking a sip.

The first course, a light salad, is served first, an attendant pouring dressing on to each person’s specifications. No one moves to eat, however, until Yuuri picks up his fork and spears a piece of tomato. They make small talk, the Duke and Yuuri talking about some matter of public policy while Viktor and Hitomi eat in silence. Almost the instant they’re done with the salads, the plates are whisked away and the main course is brought.

Chicken and roasted seasonal vegetables are plated beautifully, set in front of each person with a slight flourish. A white wine is served to complement the entree. A footman walks over, bending at the waist to whisper into the Duke’s ear. 

“Your Majesty,” the Duke says, “I’ve just been informed that my son has shown up for a surprise visit, would you mind if he were to join us?”

“Not at all,” Yuuri replies graciously. “I look forward to meeting him.”

The footman vanishes, and a few minutes later a well-dressed man in a black three-piece suit walks in. Confident, graceful, he has all the bearings of a member of the upper class. A place is set for him next to Viktor. When he walks up, he bows deeply in Yuuri’s direction. 

“Your Royal Majesty,” he says, “I am grateful to be allowed to join you in eating lunch with my father. My name is Nakamura Hideyoshi.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Yuuri says. “May I introduce my partner, Mr. Viktor Nikiforov.”

Hideyoshi gives a quick, shallow bow before taking his seat next to Viktor. A plate of food is brought out, set before him and he starts eating. Yuuri’s lips purse. Viktor’s probably right, then, to feel he was slighted in some way.

“Your Majesty,” Hideyoshi says, “it’s truly an honor to be dining in your presence. I hear you attended university in the United States?”

“I did,” Yuuri says, cutting a bite of chicken. “I’ve earned my Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science with a minor in Communications. And yourself?”

This launches roughly two hours of subtly pointed bragging during the meal, of lauding the family’s connections in every anecdote and reminding Yuuri of their accomplishments. Yuuri takes it all in stride, endlessly polite even as his smile grows increasingly fake. Viktor has to hold in laughter as he’s reminded of Detroit and Yuuri’s blatantly plastic customer service faces. As much as Hideyoshi is apparently trying to get to know Yuuri, acting as casually as he can while still maintaining propriety, Yuuri keeps him at arm’s length masterfully. This continues through the later tour of the house, when commentary becomes less about emphasizing their prestige as about reminding Yuuri of Viktor’s lack of title. It’s incredibly subtle, but Yuuri still picks up on it.

As he leads Viktor and Yuuri to the car, Hideyoshi makes the mistake of bringing up his athletic prowess.

“I almost got chosen, Your Majesty, to represent Akitsushima in the last Olympic Games.” He says with a smile. It’s a response to Yuuri’s comment about Viktor being World Champion and he’s clearly trying to put himself on Viktor’s level in all areas. Yuuri just smiles.

“We would have been honored to have you as a representative.” He looks at Viktor with feigned geniality. “You’ve been to the Olympic Games how many times again?”

“Twice,” Viktor replies, “though the RSF has made some commentary about sending me to the next Winter Games, if I’m still skating at that point. That’s up in the air.”

“You took gold both times, right?”

Viktor nods. Yuuri looks back at Hideyoshi. “To think, you two might have been in the opening parade together.” He holds his hand out as their car pulls up. “It’s been a pleasure.”

The three members of the Nakayama family shake his hand, each with a short bow. They shake Viktor’s as well, with wide smiles, standing at attention until the car has pulled out of the driveway.

 

“Sorry for… bragging about you like that,” Yuuri says as they get out of the limousine, “I just don’t like how he kept talking about his son as if I’m still available. Talking about his title, his political acumen… I got the feeling he was trying to lure me away from you.”

Viktor takes a breath as the nobleman’s threat slams back into the forefront of his consciousness. He stops, looking up at the walls and windows of the palace. He has to tell Yuuri, regardless of what the noble said. It’s not safe to say anything when they’re inside. There’s no telling who would hear, who they’d report to, but he _ needs to tell Yuuri.  _ “Your Majesty,” he says, “if I might make a request?”

The formality of his tone tells Yuuri it’s urgent, especially with as few staff members around as there are. “Yes, Vitya, of course. What is it?”

“I’d love to take a walk in the gardens,” Viktor says, holding his arm out. “And I’d be honored if you’d accompany me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Yuuri threads his arm through Viktor’s. He takes a glance at their clothing, too formal for a casual stroll, but Viktor needs to tell him. Yuuri  _ needs _ to know about the threat. The fight yesterday had all but driven it out of his mind, his exhaustion and nerves this morning too great to focus on anything but the lunch they were about to head to but now they’re back. Nothing else is planned for the rest of the day, Yuri’s nowhere nearby and it’s the perfect time to say something, nerve-wracking though it may be.

When they’re far enough away from the palace Viktor’s sure they won’t be overheard, he steers Yuuri towards a shady, secluded area. Glancing around, he sees no staff as they approach a fountain. He puts his arm around Yuuri. “Velichestvo,” he says, “Yuuri, there’s something…” The wind whispers through the trees, the fountain bubbles merrily beside them and he takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Yuuri, you remember the fight I had with Yura?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, moving to turn towards him. Viktor keeps his hand firm on his bicep.

“Don’t react, I don’t want anyone to… We’re just enjoying the garden right now.”

“Vitya, what’s wrong?” Yuuri doesn't move away, though, a sign of trust, and Viktor takes one more breath.

“Just before that fight, Lyubov, a nobleman approached me. He didn’t give his name, nor did he give his title, and he said I shouldn’t tell you, but…” There’s no real way to put ‘someone threatened to kill me’ nicely, though Viktor does his best to try to find one.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, hand tightening on Viktor’s hip, “Vitya what happened?”

“He told me it would be in my best interests to remove myself from your attentions.” He borrows the man's words, lets them speak for themselves. 

There’s a horrified gasp next to him. “He said  _ what?” _

“He said he was warning me, that I should remove myself or he wouldn’t take responsibility for what happens,” Viktor whispers. It's terrifying, now that he's said it aloud. “He said I'm not good enough for you.” He’s barely managing to keep his voice somewhat steady and Yuuri shifts closer, offering comfort. 

“That's my choice to make,” Yuuri bites. “I hadn't realized they'd move to threatening  _ you. _ My god, Vitya I'm so sorry. I'll talk to security. I'll… I'll keep you safe, I promise.”

Viktor kisses his head, taking a shaky breath. His heart pounds in his chest. His body feels strangely cold and he can’t help the shiver that runs through him. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says. His voice is cool, detached, somehow. “If at any time you decide you don’t want this, that it’s too much, I—”

“Please don’t,” Viktor interrupts. “I knew this could happen I… I can make my own decisions.” That doesn't mean he won't question them. No matter how much he’s thought about it, though, he’s never regretted the choice to stay. 

“Of course,” Yuuri replies, biting his lip. “You said he said not to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“I'll have it looked into by people I trust. Do you want me to increase security or keep it how it is at the moment?” It’s acknowledgment, respect for what Viktor’d just said that Yuuri’s involving him in figuring out how to handle things moving forward.

Viktor makes a show of pointing out some flowers so it looks like they're just enjoying things at their leisure. Yuuri plays along. They kiss, and rest their foreheads on each other. “Pros and cons?” Viktor whispers. 

“Increased security could be noticed and cause suspicion that you’ve said something, unless we can find a viable excuse. Current security can be accounted for in planning.”

“Moving as a unit increases security as a whole, yes?”

Yuuri nods. “We can stick together. We won’t be able to do so 100% of the time, but as much as we can. It’ll help with solidifying the image of us as a pair as well.”

“At the palace?”

“Not always, that’s suspicious too, but when possible,” Yuuri breathes. “I'll talk to Hana. I trust her implicitly, if you need anything, _ anything at all,  _ she's safe. She'll help.”

Viktor kisses him. “I'll remember that.”

“Remember to act like nothing's wrong, too.” Yuuri takes a deep breath, standing as close as he can.

“I know, Lyubov. I think we're both good at that.”

Closing his eyes, Yuuri nods. “We should head in. It's getting late and I want to shower before dinner.”

“Going casual?” It's a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, but Yuuri’s face darkens. 

“No. I need to toe the line. I can’t afford to make a mistake right now.” Yuuri looks shaken as he leans forward, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. “I’ll take care of telling my family. I’ll let you know if things are going to get more formal or what. Vityusha, always remember I’m on your side. I won’t throw you under the bus, you have my support.”

Nodding, Viktor kisses Yuuri’s temple. “I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you, too.” Letting out a heavy sigh, Yuuri looks him in the eyes. “We’ll get through this.”

“We will. We should go find Yura.”

 

When they ask an attendant, they’re directed to the game room. As they enter, the sounds of ping-pong fill the room, Mari’s laughter and Yuri’s frustrated shouts punctuated by Makkachin’s barks. It’s refreshingly light hearted, even as Yuri yells.  “What the  _ fuck? Again?!” _

Mari laughs harder. “I keep telling you, watch your corners.”

“I  _ am _ watching my corners!!”

Yuuri looks up at Viktor. “How’s your ping-pong?” he asks.

“I’m not very good,” Viktor responds.

Kissing him, Yuuri grins. “Do you want to play a few rounds of doubles? Take your mind off things?”

“Please.” Yuuri kisses him again, nods, and pulls him further into the room with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Another clever word**  
>  Sets off an unsuspecting herd  
> And as you get back into line  
> A mob jumps to their feet_  
> -The Offspring, You're Gonna Go Far Kid
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Things at home are still hectic, so I think I might have to do the same thing this coming month and update four weeks from now instead of two. Don't expect an update in two weeks, but if I somehow have a chapter ready I'll put it up then. I _do_ have something ready to be posted in All This and Heaven, Too next week though!! (Yuuri and Yuri's conversation in the game room!)
> 
> Thanks also to Isis and Riki for reducing the amount of time I spent crying at my keyboard. (There was a lot to iron out and between TNOT and the [AU I wrote for YOI Royalty week](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14639313) I was having a heck of a time. They're great.)
> 
> Stuff is about to get a bit darker, so mind the tags in the upcoming chapters.


	12. Some Rain, Some Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor says goodbye to his cousin and gears up for a battle he's not sure he's ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [The Best of Times by Styx.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtc-WDrJncA)

After their morning run, Viktor and Yuri head straight to the rink for practice. Instead of his usual acerbic self, Yuri’s been quiet, more sedate since whatever talk he had with Yuuri. He runs his drills without much prodding, instead looking contemplative the entire time. When Viktor has him do a run-through, though, the difference is almost staggering. While it’s not refined, the emotion Yuri’s pouring into his skate is far beyond the last time they practiced. Impressively so. He’s found his agape somehow.

When Viktor tells him so, there’s the barest hint of a smile on Yuri’s face before it’s quickly hidden behind his hair. Offering pointers, Viktor has him run the routine again, then they run the choreographic and step sequences in tandem. Yuri doesn’t talk much, but by the end of the practice he’s looking tired, sweaty, and satisfied.

As well he should. While there's a lot of work to be done, he’s taken a huge step towards making this program one of his most memorable. Grabbing his bag, Viktor looks at Yuri and ruffles his hair. “You did well today.”

“Hands off, Asshole,” Yuri says, swatting his hand away. He pulls his hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall around his face as the ghost of a smile plays at his lips. Yulian falls into step behind them as they walk out to the waiting car, getting in the front seat only after Viktor and Yuri are inside. The afternoon sun shines unpleasantly through the windows, hitting Viktor’s face through that gap between the sun shade and the rear view mirror for much of the drive. Between pulling his hood over his face and slouching almost dangerously low in the seat, Yuri manages to avoid the same sort of misfortune.

He sits attentively when they pull through the gates. It’s not a drastic shift in posture, but it’s clear he’s still taken aback by the palace. Given his background, it’s not surprising he seems put off by being here sometimes, with the gilded halls and the opulence of an old Royal residence. It’s a far cry from the small apartments in Moscow he’d spent his childhood in.

Instead of going to his own room, Yuri follows Viktor to his. When they enter, Yuuri's sitting on his couch playing video games. In jeans and a t-shirt, he looks particularly relaxed as he manipulates the buttons on his DS. Hearing the door shut, Yuuri looks up at them and smiles.

“How did practice go?”

“Well!” Viktor responds, before leaning down for a kiss. “How were your meetings?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Not so fun, as usual.”

“You should join us at the rink sometime!” Viktor wraps his arm around Yuuri when he sits next to him. “It’ll be good stress relief, Lyubov.”

“You can skate?” Yuri plops down sideways on a chair, flinging his legs over one of the arms.

“I’m alright,” Yuuri says with a smile.

“He’s got all of his triples,” Viktor says.

Yuuri blushes. “I’m not that great,” he mutters, “I can barely land the axel half the time.”

“But you _can,”_ Viktor responds. “I’ve seen you on the ice, you’re incredible.”

Running his eyes up and down Viktor’s body, Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “This coming from the man whose _signature move_ is a quad flip.”

“You don’t have to be an Olympian to be incredible,” Viktor replies with earnest sincerity, “and for someone who’s not planning to make a career of figure skating, you’re _amazing.”_

Blushing further, Yuuri leans against Viktor.

“Hey, Katsudon?”

Yuuri looks over. “Hm?”

“If you weren’t king and shit, what would you do?”

“As a career?” Yuuri straightens up a bit, tucking his feet under himself as Yuri nods in response. “I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest.”

Viktor’s heart breaks just a little. “Never, Lyubov?”

Shaking his head, Yuuri leans against the back of the couch. “When I was little, I wanted to be a dancer. I’d steal my dad’s radio and find a station playing classical music, and I’d just dance to it, twirling and jumping around until I got dizzy.” He smiles fondly. “We used to go to the ballet a lot. I loved every second of it. Then I got my first pair of skates, and there were times where it was all my parents could do to keep me away from the ice. I’d try to copy skaters I’d seen on TV. I wanted to do that, to skate for people.”

“What happened?” Yuri asks softly.

“I grew up.” Yuuri shrugs. He sounds resigned, as if it were never a question of where he’d end up.

 _It wasn’t,_ Viktor realizes. Viktor may have felt trapped in his career, but at least he’d made a choice. He wasn’t born with one path.

After a minute, Yuuri speaks again. “If I had the option now, to choose something else, I might open a café. It’s too late to try to skate competitively.”

“Too late to _start,”_ Viktor says. “You have the skills, it’d only be a matter of refining them.”

“I suppose if I dropped everything today I could… You really think I could?” he asks, eyes sparkling.

Viktor nods. “I do! You have the technical skill, and with training I could see you making the Grand Prix series. Maybe even the Final!”

Blushing, Yuuri looks down, deflating. “If only,” he says. “I would enjoy competing, I think. As it is, I’ll have to content myself with visiting the rink and making latte art.”

“Can you even make a fucking cat or were you lying?”

“I can make a _cat,”_ Yuuri says smugly.

“Prove it.” Yuri says.

Yuuri looks at him appraisingly, before grinning widely. “Fine.”

He stands, vanishing for a second into his closet. When he emerges he’s in one of his court outfits, a simpler one with black pants and boots and a maroon shirt. He adjusts the crown on his head in the mirror, brushing his hands down his shirt. The necklace is hidden from view, but Viktor doesn’t miss Yuri’s eyes glance at Yuuri’s chest just the same. Yuuri smiles, gesturing for them to follow, and leads them through the corridors.

 

The staff falls silent when they enter the kitchens and Yuuri greets them with a wave. “I’m just here to use the espresso machine,” he says. For a few moments everyone looks at each other, until Chef Elena comes over.

“Your Majesty! It is good to see you again. The machine is available,” she says, smiling.

Yuuri nods. “Before we go, Chef Elena, I’d like to introduce you to my guest, Yuri Plisetsky. He’s Viktor’s rinkmate from Russia.”

 _“Welcome,”_ she says in Russian, _“I am Elena Andreyevna Petrova, Assistant Head Chef of His Majesty’s Palace.”_

 _“Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky,”_ Yuri mumbles. _“Nice to meet you.”_ He’s being surprisingly polite. Even Yuuri seems to be able to tell, if the smile on his face is anything to go by. Assuming it’s genuine.

In what’s starting to become routine, they go directly to the coffee room. Chef Elena, on Yuuri’s invitation, follows them in and closes the door before Yuuri removes his crown, ties up his sleeves, puts on an apron, and gets to work. A steaming latte is handed to Chef Elena first, before Yuuri gets started on the next.

He explains his work at the coffee shop as he makes Yuri’s, delicately manipulating the foam and carefully drawing the details of the face, ears, and markings on the lump. When he holds it out, 3D cat floating on top, Yuri’s eyes go wide.

“This is amazing,” he says in a hushed whisper. He sets the cup down gently, pulling out his phone to take a picture. He’s typing up a caption when Yuuri clears his throat.

“Don’t mention that I made it,” he says gently.

“Why not? What, you don’t want people to copy it or something? It’s not _that_ special.”

“More like I’ll get a lot of shit from the nobility if people realize the King of Akitsushima is making latte art for a commoner teenager.” The chef’s eyebrows go up when Yuuri curses, but she keeps watching the exchange. Yuuri sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s… it’s complicated, Yura. Me making you a latte is just me being nice to a friend, but other people will see it differently, like I’m serving you in some capacity. Some may take it as a sign of weakness. At the extremes, it could be taken as a sign that I’m unfit to rule.”

“That’s stupid,” Yuri says as he finishes posting the photo. Viktor checks the caption on his phone, just in case, sighing with relief when he realizes it’s just a stream of cat emojis and exclamation points.

“Stupid though it may be,” Yuuri says as he turns back to the machine, “it’s how things are.” He pulls more shots and steams milk, delicately working with the foam for a little bit. “Any gestures I officially make have to be public, and clearly put me at an advantage.”

He hands a latte to Viktor, then, an adorable picture of Makka holding a heart on the top. Viktor snaps a picture and saves it to his phone. He’ll ask about posting it later.

“Even moreso for me,” Yuuri says as he rinses the frothing pitcher. “The people of Akitsushima haven’t seen me for fifteen years. They have no idea who I am, and how I’ll be as king, so everything I do is scrutinized heavily.” He glances back with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t be doing this in front of the chef if I didn’t trust her.”

Yuri stares into his mug, a pensive look on his face.

Viktor watches as Yuuri whips up a drink for himself, drawing a heart on it happily when he’s done. Out of habit, he cleans the workstation and washes the dishes he used, setting them carefully on the drying rack before wiping his hands off on a dishtowel. When there’s a knock on the door, Yuuri scrambles to untie his apron, flinging it to the side before untying his sleeves and grabbing his crown. He slams it back on his head as the door opens, leaning awkwardly against the counter with his chin in the air. His posture relaxes as an elderly woman walks in.

“Your crown’s crooked, sweetie,” she says to Yuuri, who blushes.

He takes the crown back off his head, turning it in his hands a little before using one to brush his hair into place. Once the crown is situated properly, the woman pulls Yuuri into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, dear.”

Yuuri smiles. “And you, Natsumi-san,” he says as he wraps his arms around her. “Are you in to visit the kitchens?”

“I'm giving what advice I can,” she says, “and making sure the bakery follows my recipes.” Smiling, she pats Yuuri’s arm.

“Why does she get to act all casual?” Yuri asks curiously.

“She’s been with my family since my father was a child,” Yuuri answers, “and she doesn’t do this when we’re not in the kitchens.”

“I’m old,” Natsumi says with a smile. “I changed the late king’s nappies, and Yuuri-sama’s too. I get away with things.” She pats Yuuri’s cheek.

“Would you like some tea?” Yuuri asks.

“No, dear, I just wanted to say hello. I have baked goods to supervise, I'll have some brought to your room later,” she pats his shoulder. “You’ve gotten so tall,” she says, chuckling as she walks out. Yuuri smiles after her fondly. The other chef rinses her mug, setting it to dry. Yuuri starts explaining the cat-making process happily to the teenager next to him, but the chef pulls Viktor into the corner.

 _“Should you have need of anything,”_ she says in quiet Russian, _“come let me know. Questions, concerns, even if you just need a proper Russian meal, come find me here.”_

 _“Why are you doing this for me?”_ Viktor asks quietly.

_“I know how it feels to need a taste of your own culture and the comforts of home in a strange land.”_

“Spacibo,” Viktor says. She claps her hand on his shoulder.

“Your Majesty,” she says as she turns back to the room. “Would you like some cookies?”

Pain flashes quickly across Yuuri’s face before he hides it under a smile. “I was actually hoping for something more cake-y, is there anything available?”

“I want cookies,” Yuri says from the corner.

“You’re welcome to all the cookies you like,” Yuuri replies.

“We have an angel food cake, I can cut some fresh fruit and whip some cream if you’d like that, Sire.”

“That would be great, thanks. And some cookies for Mr. Plisetsky, I guess, if you already have them made.”

With a bow, she heads out, gesturing for them to follow. They do so, letting her guide them to the small dining room Viktor’s starting to grow fond of. Yuuri runs his fingers along the table with a wistful smile on his face.

“I used to spend afternoons here as a kid,” he says, to no one in particular. “Especially before banquets. I got to taste-test the food if I was in the kitchens.”

“Your mother eventually learned to call down here first if she couldn’t find you, Majesty,” the chef says.

Yuuri looks up, smiling. “Did she?” he asks. “I never knew that.”

Chef Elena nods. “If you weren’t here, you were in the studio. Failing that, we’d start sending people through the passages.” Smiling, she leaves in search of snacks for them.

“How far do they go?” Yuri inquires. He’s holding his coffee, foam cat still undisturbed but sagging.

“Everywhere,” Yuuri responds, “but if the palace really is as stupid as you seem think it is, I’m sure travelling back to my room through the walls isn’t something that would interest you.” He grins smugly, crossing his arms.

“You don’t know that,” Yuri says, looking out the window.

Viktor snorts. For all his posturing, his little cousin is very easy to read.

They take their seats as they wait, Yuuri sipping his latte with a smile. Reluctantly, Yuri finally disturbs his cat, before his eyes widen.

“Not fuckin’ bad, Katsudon,” he says.

“Yuri, this counts as semi-public.” Yuuri sits back in the bench, allowing himself to sink just slightly into the cushions.

Looking out the windows, Yuri frowns. “So… Your, um, Majesty, do you not like cookies or some shit?”

Yuuri smiles, convincingly if you don’t know him, and takes another sip of his coffee. “I lost my taste for them when I was younger. Never quite managed to get it back,” he replies. This dance with the truth is delicate, and Yuuri does it masterfully, weaving half-truths with meaningless embellishments that belie his careful phrasing. His skill makes sense, though, considering how much time he spent doing this very thing. Most of the stories he’d told Viktor while they were in Detroit had involved this very act of deception. They're still discovering inconsistencies Yuuri has to clear up.

“You should try my grandpa’s rugelach,” Yuri says excitedly. “Or his hamantaschen!”

“Hamantaschen are a _lie_ and you know it,” Viktor says under his breath. He hates the cookies. Too dry, never enough filling.

Yuri just sticks his tongue out. “Anyway, my grandpa makes the best cookies,” he says, “I’ll get him to make some for you to try, he can mail them.”

“I’d rather not,” Yuuri responds, firm. “Though I appreciate the offer.” He takes another sip of his coffee, clearly indicating the topic is unwelcome. Yuri glances at Viktor, who pointedly shakes his head. _Drop it._ Nodding, Yuri looks down at his coffee. Snacks come shortly, a small plate of cookies for Yuri and a fluffy angel food cake with strawberries buried under whipped cream for Viktor and Yuuri.

“You always do this?” Yuri asks.

“Hmm?” Yuuri looks up from his cake. “Always do what?”

“Just come down and get snacks and shit.”

Yuuri shrugs. “Not a lot. I can ask for them sent to me, which is what I usually do while I’m working, but I don’t make it a habit to come bother the kitchen staff, they have shit to do.”

“You did it when you were a kid though, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, Yuuri spears what’s left of his cake with his fork. “Yeah, and I was a kid. My parents talked to me about it, taught me not to be an ass.” He shoves the last bite of cake in his mouth.

“Are we ready to go?” Viktor asks, gesturing at the almost-empty plate of cookies. Yuri grabs the last one and nods, pushing his cup to the center. Standing, Yuuri stretches before stacking the plates neatly, silverware on top, and smiles as he looks at them. “Passages?”

The grin that splits Yuri’s face is frankly adorable.

 

Viktor’s been through passages with Yuuri before, when he was showing them to Phichit, when a particularly rude noble was being guided down the hall Viktor and Yuuri were in, and once or twice (or three or four times) through the passages between what had been his room and Yuuri’s. Always, the journey had been quick, Yuuri lighting the way with his phone while navigating with relative ease.

This time, they’ve been in the walls almost 30 minutes while Yuuri tries to figure out where in the palace they are.

“Just open a fucking door and look around, Katsudon,” Yuri whispers, but he’s shushed quickly.

“I used to do this all the time as a kid,” Yuuri says, neglecting to mention his extended absence and resulting lack of practice. “I’ll figure it out.”

They continue walking.

 

Ten minutes later, Yuuri’s kneeling on the floor, peering through a grate, when they hear a hushed click down the hall. All three of them freeze, Yuuri setting his flashlight down on the ground. Soft footsteps come closer, muffled on carpet, and Yuuri stands slowly, gently backing away from the source of the sound.

“Maybe it’s someone who can help us,” Viktor says in a whisper.

“I don’t want to get caught,” Yuuri says in return.

Yuri scoffs, and Viktor can almost hear him roll his eyes. “Aren’t you like the fucking King or something? Who’s gonna get you in trouble?”

Yuuri shrugs, and they see the beam of a flashlight on the wallpaper at the end of the hall.

“Just ask them for help or some shit, I don’t want to die in here.”

“We’re not going to die in here,” Yuuri replies before hushing them.

The flashlight beam grows stronger, turning down the hallway ahead of them. It follows the floor in their direction, coming to rest on their faces.

“I-I can explain!” Yuuri says quickly, before the flashlight starts shaking and the person holding it laughs.

“You look like a deer in the headlights!” Mari exclaims as she draws closer, and Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief. “People have been hearing whispering in the walls, someone came to talk to me about it. I thought it might be you.” Yuuri's nose scrunches up in the dim light, and Mari ruffles his hair through the center of his crown. “You’re at the junction between mom’s sitting room and my bedroom.”

Yuuri makes a noise of understanding as he picks his phone up off the ground, and Mari smiles. “Come on, we can head to dinner, Yuuri.”

“No, I said I was gonna get us to my room, I’m gonna do that. We can meet you in your bedroom, though, if you want.”

“You’re a stubborn ass sometimes, you know that? Fine, but if you’re not there in 20 minutes I’m sending a search party in. A huge one.”

“Mari!” Yuuri says exasperatedly.

“I’ll tell them to sound the alarm, too.”

“No.” Yuuri lets out a pained whine. He looks between the passages. “Which one to Mom’s sitting room?” he asks his sister. Mari points. He grabs Viktor and Yuri, handily dragging them through the corridor.

They come out from behind a bookshelf in Yuuri's sitting room, bursting into the fresh air with gasps of relief. Yuuri closes the door, before brushing dust off of his pant legs.

“I thought you knew your way around, Katsudon.” Yuri says grumpily.

“I mean, to be fair, I’ve changed bedrooms since I was a kid.”

He pulls the crown off his head, inspecting it carefully, before moving in front of a mirror and fixing his hair.

“Can I try it on?” Yuri asks quietly.

Looking around, Yuuri sees the windows and door shut. He leads them into the bedroom, closing that door as well. “Vitya, stay here by the door, make sure no one comes in.”

Viktor nods, standing in place as Yuuri handily grabs Yuri by the shoulders, moving him in front of the mirror.

“Before I do this,” Yuuri says slowly, “You need to promise me something. This needs to remain a secret. Literally just between us three, do you understand?”

Yuri nods, blond hair falling in front of his face before he pushes it back behind his ears.

“As far as any of us are concerned, you’ve only ever touched a crown, never held or worn one. You can’t talk about this with anyone.”

“I promise,” Yuri whispers.

Yuuri looks at the crown in his hands, silver with black gemstones set into it, before pursing his lips. He sets the crown back on his own head, holding up a finger when Yuri gives him an indignant look. Vanishing into his closet, he emerges a second later with a large leather case.

“Stay facing the mirror and close your eyes,” he says to Yuri. When the teenager does as he’s asked, Yuuri sets the case down on his bed and opens it. It’s immediately clear why he made the change. The crown in the case is a shimmering gold, inlaid with iridescent blue opals at each point, echoing the clear blue-green Viktor knows Yuri’s eyes to be. It’s not as tall as some of the others he’s seen, but the metalwork is still impressively delicate and subtle. Yuuri picks it up carefully from the back, and walks over to Yuri.

“Eyes closed until I say so,” he says. “Vitya, if you hear anything that even remotely sounds like a door closing nearby, let me know so I can take it off.”

Viktor nods his assurance again, and Yuuri smiles. He walks the final few feet, standing behind Yuri for a second before raising the crown over his head, and lowering it gently. Yuri shifts as the weight settles, posture straightening and he opens his eyes when he’s told.

He lets out a small gasp when he sees himself. In the low light, the crown seems to glow, Yuri’s hair with it. The opals shimmer, and Yuri’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight. Turning his head from side to side, he reaches one hand up to touch it before pulling back gingerly.

“Are they all this heavy?” he asks softly.

“Some are heavier. Including the one I’m wearing.”

“How do you not get tired?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s a combination of getting used to it, and having good posture. And a really good poker face at the end of the day. It’s nowhere near as heavy as the ones for ceremonies, those suck, but at least I only wear them for a few hours.”

Though he nods and says he understands, Yuri doesn’t, not really. He hasn’t seen what Viktor has, the years the crown adds to Yuuri’s face by virtue of being on his head. There’s an unfathomable weight to the crown that has nothing to do with the physical.

“We should go soon, or your sister’s going to send those search parties,” Viktor says.

“True,” Yuuri says, nodding. He takes the golden crown, carrying it gently over to set in the case. After he stows it back in the closet, he walks out wearing a smaller silver crown with a single oval of blue azurite set into the front.

“The other one looked fine,” Yuri says under his breath.

“The other one was pretty heavy. I’ll change back if I need to. Remember, Yura. Don’t tell anyone you wore one of my crowns. Not my sister, not my mother, not Lilia or Yakov or your grandfather. _No one_ finds out.”

Yuri nods. He’s calmed down about having to follow rules since he arrived, which is a huge relief. It seems once he figured out that Yuuri only enforces the rules when _necessary,_ his natural inclination to do the exact opposite of what he’s told lessened.

They take the passages to Mari’s room, Yuuri finding his way easily this time, and when he knocks on a random bit of wall, it opens into the sitting room. Mari stands next to the door, smiling. “Did it take you that long to come straight here?”

“No,” Yuuri says as he walks into her room. “I had to change.”

She looks him up and down. “So it took you that long to pick another hat.”

“I have _options,_ Mari, and my neck was hurting.”

She rolls her eyes. “Did you have fun in the passages, Yurio?”

“Can you make your sister stop calling me that?” he asks Yuuri, pointedly.

Yuuri sighs. “No.”

“You're the King, she’s a fucking princess. You outrank her.”

“I’m not pulling rank on my sister because you don’t like your nickname.”

“What _would_ it take for you to pull rank on her?”

“The last piece of cake,” Mari says with a smile.

Yuuri flushes red, and glares at his sister. “I was six, Mari. _Six.”_

“I was talking about that time you were four, but six works too.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Regardless. It’s a dick move, and I’m not going to do it.”

Pouting, Yuri crosses his arms. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Let’s just go get food.”

 

“By the way, Mari,” Yuuri says as he puts his chopsticks down, “in a few days, Isamu-ojisan will declare his public support for the changes. Officially.” They're just finishing dinner, and most everyone has pushed aside their plates in favor of tea.

“What’s going on?” Viktor asks.

“I’m trying to get the changes to the Laws of Succession finalized now so I can sign them into law and name Mari heir,” Yuuri says. “Our Uncle Isamu, the current Crown Prince and heir presumptive, supports it. Which, there’s really no way for people to protest much anymore, since he’s the one with the most to lose.” Yuuri sips his tea. “Of course, a small part of that is he’d be expected to move to Hasetsu, soon, and he and his wife really don’t want to uproot their kids. They had a system with my dad, but they’d been working together for years and he barely knows me or how I work, so setting up a system like that would be prohibitively time-consuming while we figured things out.”

“He’s privately backed the change for years, though,” Mari adds, “so it really isn't about convenience.”

“You’re ok with it, though, right?” Yuuri asks. “You’re ok with being Crown Princess? It’s… it’s a lot and I don’t want to force you into it. I can make sure laws of succession skip you if you want.”

“Yuuri,” Mari says, “I’ll be fine. I’m ready. Minako said she’d work with me. Dad let me sit in a lot, too, in your absence. He let me help out, taught me what he could in the time we had.”

“He laid a lot of legal framework too, you know,” Yuuri says. “A lot of the changes he made in the past few years were paving the way for this, and the last time we talked he gave me advice.” Viktor has no idea when it was Yuuri’d talked to his dad last, outside of rushed goodbyes when they first got to the palace. It seems only yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

Mari smiles. “Yeah. He’s been working towards this for a while. He’d hoped you would finish the job.”

“I’m going to,” Yuuri says, quiet but determined. “This entire system is backwards. It should always have been by birth order.”

“So what,” Yuri says, “you gonna end up making her queen or something so you don’t have to deal with this shit?”

“I wouldn’t force this on anyone,” Yuuri mutters barely loud enough for Viktor to hear, before catching himself. “I just… I’m currently focusing on succession to make sure it’s fair in the future. Things are a lot harder to change retroactively, so I can’t make it so Mari was my dad’s heir, but I can make her mine, unless I have kids.”

“Have you two _talked_ about kids?” Mari asks. They haven’t, really, not anything more than a passing mention and the decision to talk about them later. Both of them like the idea despite Yuuri’s inexperience, and Viktor’s always enjoyed children, but their decision affects more than just them. Any children they have would be Yuuri’s heirs, next in a line of monarchs that dates back centuries and Yuuri, understandably, wants to get everything in order as far as their relationship goes before thinking about bringing kids into it. About bringing kids into _this._

Yuuri and Viktor look at each other, before Yuuri looks back. “We haven’t discussed it. I’d like to be sure everything’s going smoothly before trying to figure out what kids would entail. Both legally, and personally.”

Mari nods. Hiroko reaches across the table, taking Yuuri’s hand.

“Yuuri-kun, Vicchan,” she says, “You need to figure out what’s best for you.” Looking directly at Yuuri, she continues, “there is an _incredible_ amount of pressure on you to provide an heir, but you and Vicchan need to do what’s right for your relationship.” Viktor hadn’t thought about external pressure before. How many times has Yuuri been asked by now? How many people have hinted or told him that he needs to ensure his line continues, that he needs to have a child, or children, to further the monarchy? Nothing has been said, but then Yuuri rarely discusses issues he has with the palace or the nobility unless they directly involve Viktor, and even then it’s not common. He really ought to ask.

“Don’t you want grandkids?” Yuuri blurts.

“Whether or not I want grandkids, Yuuri-kun, shouldn’t make a difference in your decision.” Hiroko goes back to her meal with no further comment on the subject. Viktor squeezes his fiancé’s hand, giving him a smile. “Regardless,” Hiroko says, “your uncle has said he’d be willing to come out himself for a while to help Mari with her new duties once the law is signed. Between his help, your father’s before he passed, and what advice you can offer her, I’m sure she’ll do wonderfully.”

Nodding, Yuuri pours himself a cup of tea. Yuri’s sitting at his place, sullen as usual as he pokes at what’s left of his food. With the amount of training they’ve been doing, he’s had precious little down time outside of when Viktor’s been otherwise occupied, and Viktor, too, is feeling the need for a day off. He knows Yuuri could use it.

“When’s your next free day?” he asks Yuuri.

“Mmm, this weekend,” he says after a moment. “Why?”

“We haven’t done any sightseeing, and Yura’s going back to Russia soon!”

“You could go to the zoo,” Mari says.

The look Yuri gives her could wilt flowers, but Mari just smiles in response. “There are big cats. Lions. Tigers. Leopards.”

“Can I pet them?” Yuri asks, clearly expecting the answer to be no.

Mari looks at her brother and raises an eyebrow. Yuuri sighs, smiling. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

~*~

 

“Okay, one more time, boys!” Minako’s claps echo in the large ballroom.

Yuuri sighs, looking back at the grand staircase they'd just practiced coming down. “Again? Minako-sensei…”

“Your Majesty, this is your Coronation Ball. This is your official return to the social scene. You must be absolutely perfect as you make your entrance.”

“We’ve done it like, ten thousand times already!” It’s a feeble protest, but Yuuri stands firm, hands on his hips.

Viktor chuckles, kissing his temple. “Thirteen. We can do it once more.”

“Try to look less stupid next time,” Yuri mutters.

“Yura.” Fixing him with a glare, Yuuri sighs. Minako holds in a laugh as she gestures towards the stairs. They climb back to the top, going out the doors into the hall. Yuuri hugs Viktor.

“We'll be okay,” Viktor says, kissing him. Minako walks through the door.

“Your Majesty, Viktor,” she says, “one last run through. Remember, from the time you set foot in the room to the time you greet the Queen Mother and Her Royal Highness, you do nothing but walk. The occasional nod of the head is acceptable, but no waving. You may smile, but not grin. This is about presentation, Your Majesty, this is about re-establishing yourself in the public eye, as the sovereign ruler of this nation. You can’t afford to make a mistake. Your status must be unquestionable, your posture unwavering even under this pressure if people are going to take you seriously.”

Yuuri sighs. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Walk in, keep walking, greet my family, dance.”

Minako nods at him, a fond smile on her face. “Viktor,” she says, turning to him, “this is your debut as well. It’s fitting that it’s the pair of you, establishing yourselves as a unit from the start. However, getting this right is crucial. By showing up on His Majesty’s arm you are asking the nation to accept you as a potential King-Consort. You are declaring your intent to become a member of the Royal Family, you are showing that you're already _close_ to the Royal Family. Getting this right will tell the world that you take this seriously, and that you have what it takes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Viktor responds. “Am I also to understand that how well I do reflects on His Majesty?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before she nods. “Yes. If you do poorly, people will question why His Majesty has been so adamant that you’re more than capable of filling the role.” The words make Viktor’s heart swell. Yuuri has always insisted he has faith in him, but to hear it reflected, unprompted, from someone else gives Viktor a burst of happiness. “As you’ve been seen alongside His Majesty frequently over the last few months,” Minako continues, “people expect you to be able to handle yourself reasonably well at court. If you haven’t learned by now, they’ll wonder if you ever will.”

Immediately, Viktor sobers. The stakes are high, especially with the nobleman’s threat looming over their heads. Minako knows about it, Yuuri said he’d told her a few days ago, and she’s been pushing just a bit harder ever since. Nodding, Viktor feels Yuuri wrap his arm around his waist.

“Should we run this, then?” Yuuri asks.

“Yes,” Minako says. “Watch your posture, watch your gait. Make sure you’re both walking at the same speed, same foot forward.”

As she makes eye contact with him, Viktor nods. Yuuri nods next to him, and she smiles. “I’ll be in the next room. Remember to wait for the announcement.”

“We know, Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says.

She disappears through the door again. After a moment, they hear her shout that she’s ready, and Yuuri offers his arm, looking up at Viktor. With a warm smile and a kiss to Yuuri’s nose, Viktor threads his arm through, bringing his hand to rest on Yuuri’s forearm. Yuuri nods at the attendant standing in the doors, and the announcement rings through the room once again.

Left foot forward after a beat, they walk together through the grand doors to the top of the staircase. A pause, so Yuuri can greet his guests and they can be _seen by_ his guests, and then they step together down the first stair. Viktor’s never seen this room decorated for an event before. Tables are stacked to the side, tablecloths nearby. There are trolleys with serving dishes, candlesticks, vases, all sorts of decorative metal items ready to be arranged amongst the pastries and hors d’oeuvres that will be served. The ornate metal chandeliers have been polished, glimmering above the hardwood floor and throwing their light across the room. No matter how many times Viktor walks through the doors, the ballroom never fails to take his breath away.

When they make it to the bottom stair, they pause again. It’s at this point Viktor will be close enough to the crowd for heavy scrutinization. He keeps his back straight, his chin out. It’s a way of holding himself subtly different than what he’s used to, more akin to his opening pose for a program than his usual manner of greeting people. After a moment, they step forward together, walking to a folding chair Minako had set up as a placemarker for where Yuuri’s family will be standing. Yuuri stands still for the moment it would take them to bow. Viktor bends slightly at the waist muttering “Your Majesty, Your Highness,” under his breath. Next to him, Yuuri barely contains a snort before composing himself.

They turn together, Yuuri offering his arm once more to Viktor, before they move to the center of the dance floor, taking the starting position for a waltz.

“Excellent,” Minako says. “Perfectly in unison! That’s what we needed.”

“We don’t have to run it again, then?” Yuuri asks.

“Not today,” she says. “Remember, we’ll have almost daily practices starting next week.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Yuuri says absently as he grabs water for them. Practice had started with dance two hours ago, moving straight into entrance and exit rehearsals and they’ve gone up and down those stairs more times than Viktor cares to count. Gratefully, he takes the water glass when it’s offered. Where he’d have expected the palace to provide water bottles, instead were insulated water dispensers, fresh chopped fruit and lemon provided in case they wanted a bit of flavor. Yuuri’s put peaches in his own, strawberry in Viktor’s like he knows Viktor likes. Yuri is sitting on the stairs nearby, eating fruit out of a glass with another full of ice next to him.

Minako walks over. “You two are doing well. I know it’s repetitive, but having the muscle memory will help in the long run. Especially as often as we’ll be holding events in here.”

“Okay, Sensei,” Yuuri responds. Viktor nods in agreement.

“Viktor,” Minako says, “I want you to make the effort to carry yourself like that at all times when you're walking around the grounds and in public, especially when accompanying His Majesty. This doesn't, of course apply to practices and workouts.”

“Understood,” Viktor replies. As he masters the basics of court conduct, Minako adds additional rules and criteria. It's gentle but constant, steadily molding him into the Royal he needs to become. He glances at Yuuri, wondering if this is how he learned. Yuuri smiles at him.

Minako grabs her purse. “You're both doing well,” she says, “I'll see you later.” Turning to leave, she waves goodbye.  As she walks up the stairs, she turns around. “Yurio, Viktor, I’ll see you two at the studio tomorrow, yes?” When they both agree, she smiles, waves again, and heads out.

Yuuri sighs. “We ought to shower before dinner,” he says, looking at Viktor. Nodding Viktor agrees. He fills his glass again, Yuuri following suit, and they leave for the residential area.  

As a group, they head upstairs towards the bedrooms. “Hey, Katsudon,” Yuri whispers as they reach the top of the stairwell.

“What?” Yuuri asks.

“Hey, so you know how I’m related to Viktor, right?”

“No, you’re not going to be royalty if we get married.” Yuuri replies, turning down the hall.

“How the fuck did he know I was going to ask that?” Yuri asks in disbelief.

“It’s a surprisingly common question,” Viktor responds. He looks at his cousin. “So you know, tomorrow we’re going to have a split practice, I have to go… what is it we’re doing again?” he asks Yuuri.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we had the… there’s a thing at a theater?”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, nodding, “it’s Hasetsu’s oldest performing arts space, they’re celebrating… a few hundred years, now. We’re there to present a plaque. Commendation from the King for their part in maintaining our National and Cultural Traditions or something.”

“Wait we’re having a split practice again?” Yuri asks. “We’re always doing that, I thought you hated split practices.”

“I don’t _hate_ them,” Viktor responds, “but I’m not fond. It’s the only way we can fit it in tomorrow, though. Unless you want to hit the gym tomorrow afternoon and we can have a full practice the day after.”

“You can’t just move it?”

Viktor takes a deep breath. Every little thing in his schedule that can be moved to accommodate their practices has, and other stuff has been either cancelled completely, or changed so Yuuri does it alone. Pulling out his phone, he brings up his schedule and holds it out with a smile. “When I’m not working with you I’m working with Minako-sensei, doing homework she’s assigned, or doing something with Yuuri,” he says lightheartedly. “Most, if not all of those, are public appearances or meet-ups with important people. I can’t just drop everything on a whim, you know.”

“Why the fuck are you dealing with all this bullshit?” Yuri asks, gesturing at the phone, “Do you ever get free time?” The mood immediately darkens. The only bullshit Viktor hasn’t agreed to is the bullshit Yuri’s brought, arriving without notice and demanding time out of Viktor’s already-packed schedule. Yuuri was clear about what Viktor would need to do, and so far nothing’s been added to his plate without him agreeing in advance.

Except for Yuri showing up.

Raising an eyebrow, Viktor feels his smile turn to plastic. “To be fair, when people were setting my schedule, they weren’t anticipating you showing up out of the blue,” he says cheerfully.

“The fuck was I supposed to do? You skipped out on your fucking promise!”

Looking down at his cousin, Viktor’s grin widens. It’s cold, sharp edges and little affection. “You could have started with a phone call,” he says. “Or a text. Instead, the people who take care of scheduling have scrambled to move everything around and fit in what they could after I _asked_ them to make room for your training. Tomorrow will be a split practice, I expect to see you at breakfast at seven.”

At least Yuri has the decency to look apologetic. Still angry, Viktor looks at Yuuri. “We’re eating in your room tonight, yes? There was something you wanted to discuss over dinner?” Viktor hasn't yet been the one to initiate a lie for a change of plans like this, but he trusts Yuuri to go along with him unless there’s a pressing reason not to. The urgency of the excuse echoes the urgency of the reason for the lie, in this case, and Yuuri can tell Viktor doesn’t want to be dealing with Yuri anymore.

Yuuri covers his surprise well, nodding. “Yes. Just a few things, but I'd rather not in front of family.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Yuri asks.

“Do you need my sister to come get you for dinner?”

“I know how to get to the fucking dining room.”

“Then you should be fine getting there yourself when you’re told dinner is ready,” Yuuri says. It’s a bit curt. He’s probably not too thrilled with Yuri’s attitude either, and the teenager looks at the floor, frowning.

“I don’t want to eat with your sister,” he says.

Viktor crosses his arms, still smiling. “I’m sure the staff would be more than happy to deliver your food to your room if you like!” Yuri looks at Yuuri, who nods in agreement.

“Whatever,” Yuri mutters, heading down the hall. “I’m out, I’ll see you assholes tomorrow.”

 

When they get to their bedroom, Yuuri calls down to the kitchens to tell them they’ll be taking their meal in private. Once he’s texted Mari telling her the same, and asking her to make sure Yuri gets something to eat, they end up in the shower. Dinner won’t be too long, so they scrub each other’s backs and wash each other’s hair methodically and are out and drying off in no time. They dress in nice pajamas, commissioned as part of their wardrobes. Once they’ve eaten dinner and won’t be expecting staff in and out of the room, they can change into something more comfortable if they’d like.

Viktor has to admit, though, these pajamas are pretty comfortable.

They’re on the balcony when dinner comes, and as it’s served they take their seats on adjacent corners of the small table.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” the butler asks before taking his final leave. Yuuri moves to dismiss him, but before he can say anything, Viktor speaks.

“Wine, please. To complement our dinner.”

“Of course, Mr. Nikiforov. Shall I have a bottle paired with your dessert as well, sir?”

“Yes, we would appreciate it,” Viktor says. “That will be all.”

When the butler leaves, Yuuri looks at him. “That was weirdly authoritative,” he says.

“Is that a bad thing?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri purses his lips, thinking. “Just unexpected,” he answers. “You usually wait for me to take charge.”

Viktor shrugs. “I'm going to have to get used to this, won’t I?”

“I suppose,” Yuuri says slowly, “you’ll be expected to act more like, well, royalty, yes.” He looks like he’s not quite sure how to feel about that, a melancholic pride mixed with relief in his expression.

In short order the butler is back with the wine, showing it to both of them for their approval before it’s poured into glasses with a flourish.

“Would you like the bottle left?”

“Please,” Viktor says. Bowing, the butler places it towards the center of the table and takes his leave.

The wine, of course, goes perfectly with the food they’re eating, and the bottle is almost gone before their plates are cleared. Yuuri doesn’t chatter endlessly, but he does make occasional small talk while they eat. By the end of dinner, the alcohol has dulled Viktor’s anger, smoothing it into something a bit more palatable. Their dishes are cleared, and dessert comes. With it are two bottles of an imported cherry wine, from Michigan if the mitten-shaped logo on one of them is any indication, and they’re most of the way through one of them when Yuuri offers Viktor a bite of his ice cream-laden fruit cobbler. Viktor indulges him, takes the bite slowly and savors it while Yuuri takes a sip of his wine. They trade bites, despite the fact that they’re eating the same thing, . The second bottle of wine is opened and started, additional servings of cobbler dropped on their dessert plates. Yuuri giggles when Viktor kisses some ice cream off his nose, and Viktor does his best to smile in return.

 

“Vityusha,” Yuuri slurs, scowling adorably after their sixth (seventh? _eighth?)_ glass of wine.

“What is it, my Yuurasha?” Viktor murmurs. They’ve turned off most of the lights, leaving only the ones nearest the table on, if a bit dimmer than usual. The metalwork in the room glitters, much more obvious now that it isn’t so bright. It’s beautiful, to be sure, but strangely distracting.

Standing, Yuuri moves close, resting his forearms on Viktor’s shoulders as he straddles him, plopping unceremoniously on his lap. Meeting his eyes, Viktor smiles. Yuuri pouts.

Bringing one finger up, Yuuri pokes at Viktor’s cheek. Once, then twice more. Once more with his other hand. “Vityushka,” he mutters, “Vitya. Why was… why was the broom late for the meeting?”

Eyes sparkling, he looks eagerly at Viktor while he waits for an answer. Viktor kisses his nose, sighing indulgently.

“Why, Lyubov?”

“It _overswept.”_ A fleeting smile comes over Viktor’s face. Yuuri twists his mouth to the side. “When’s the best time for a dentist appointment?” he asks.

“When your tooth’s hurting?” Viktor responds.

Giggling, Yuuri kisses him. “Almost!” He presses his lips to Viktor’s nose. “Two-thirty, get it? _Tooth-hurty?”_

Viktor smiles again. It feels more plastic than it ought to be, and Yuuri’s face slips back into a frown. “You don't need to do that. I don't like that one.”

“That what?”

“The fake smile,” Yuuri says. “You don't have to pretend, you know, not for me.”

“You were trying to make me smile,” Viktor responds. “I was smiling for you.”

“Was trying to make you _happy,”_ Yuuri replies, gentle. “If you aren't, you don't- you shouldn’t fake it. I love sad Vitya just as much as happy Vitya and tired Vitya and funny Vitya and frustrated Vitya. I love _you,_ you know.”

Swallowing a lump, Viktor looks up at Yuuri. “I sometimes forget you can tell which smiles are real.”

“I've been able to from… It was before you kissed me.” Yuuri nods determinedly.

 _“You_ kissed _me,”_ Viktor retorts.

Yuuri flaps his hand at Viktor, waving him off. “Shush,” he says. “We kissed each other point is, my solysh… solnyshko person we _kissed._ And it was like. The best thing to happen to me even if it uhh… complicated things.”

“Did you just… call me sunshine?” Viktor asks, now curious about Yuuri’s apparent command of Russian. Well, a word of Russian.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Have you _seen_ the way your smile lights up my heart?” Yuuri asks. “It’s like a sparkler in the night. Just. Dancing in my heart.” His eyes glimmer, red dusting his cheeks in the low lighting. With his glasses on, his hair down, it’s comfortingly, _achingly_ familiar.

“You like my smile?”

Yuuri nods. “It's like… like a _heart,_ you know,” he murmurs. “At least to me. Not the… the fake one, that one is all… Like mine. Utilitarian. Just. It serves whatever purpose it needs to and there’s nothing substantial. But your real one just. It’s love.”

There’s a lump in Viktor’s throat and a prickling in the corner of his eye. Tugging on Yuuri’s shirt, he pulls him forward for a kiss. Yuuri obliges him, pressing his lips to Viktor’s with a tenderness he saves only for their time away from prying eyes. Shifting forward, Yuuri maintains their connection, holding the kiss as he re-positions himself. Fingers threading through Viktor’s hair, Yuuri’s fingertips brush across his scalp, moving to cup the back of Viktor’s head and neck.

With Yuuri’s chest flush against his own, Viktor can feel the imprints of both necklaces. A reminder of their love. Their devotion. Viktor pulls back. He can feel the tears threatening to spill over, and Yuuri must be able to see it on his face because he cups Viktor’s cheek and looks him in the eye.

“I love you,” he says with earnest sincerity. “I love you so much, Vityusha.”

“I love you, too,” Viktor replies. “My life, my love, my Yuuri.” He sounds like he’s about to cry and he might be. “You're worth it,” he says, meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “All of this. You're worth it to me.”

“Vitya…” Now _Yuuri_ sounds like he’s going to cry. This is one of those things, Viktor knows, that causes Yuuri constant anxiety. That Viktor will stop going along with it, that Viktor will decide he wants to go back to St. Petersburg and not deal with everything that comes with Yuuri and being Suitor to a King.

Viktor knows how it feels to wonder like that, to be constantly in fear of _that one thing_ that tips the scales just a bit too far. He runs one hand along the side of Yuuri’s face, pulling him in for another kiss. He doesn't want Yuuri to be scared anymore. For so long Yuuri’s lived in constant terror of losing so much, if Viktor can do anything to lessen that, do _anything_ to ease his mind, he will.

“You're worth this,” Viktor says because he can never say it too much.

“It’s so hard on you though,” Yuuri whispers. “I can see how tired you are. Even before Yura came…”

Viktor kisses him again on his lips, twice on his nose. “It’s hard, yes, but so is figure skating. So is moving to a different country. So is learning another language. I've done all of those. I can do this, too.”

“Vitya, the _scale_ of this, though. It's every aspect of life, it’s constant public presence, it’s—”

“Part of being with you,” Viktor interrupts. “You made it clear what my responsibilities would be, what would come with being your partner, your fiancé. Eventually, your _husband._ Yuuri, I had all of the information I needed to make a… decision and I _did.”_

There’s no comeback Yuuri can give that doesn't imply Viktor can’t make his own decisions and he knows it. Between the Royal Family themselves and Minako, he knows Viktor has a good grasp on things by this point. The tears run down Yuuri’s face, now, and Viktor feels one of his own making its way towards his jaw.

“I know how it feels,” Viktor whispers. “I know how it feels to be so scared of being too much. I _know,_ Yuuri and I… I need you to know you don't need to be scared like that, Lyubov. You don't.”

“You don’t either,” Yuuri whispers. “My Vityusha I love you so much, you don't have to hide parts of yourself.”

It’s almost overwhelming. He’s needed to hear this for months, needed to _know_ and it's a balm for the long-ignored ache in his heart. “Are you sure?” he asks in a whisper.

“I want _you,”_ Yuuri says. “In whatever form that takes. Imperfection is not a flaw, my love.”

It hits harder than Viktor would expect. _Imperfection is not a flaw._ It means even more now, when his every move is scrutinized so heavily. When, out of necessity, Minako demands flawlessness in their composure, their speech, the minutiae of their body language. Yuuri, whose world demands perfection, whose future hinges, in a way, on Viktor’s performance here, has told him that he doesn’t need to be perfect.

If he wasn't crying before, he is now. Hot tears flow down his face as Yuuri pulls him close, cradles Viktor’s head against his chest. Draping his arms around Yuuri’s waist, Viktor rests his forehead on his shoulder. “I needed that,” he whispers into Yuuri’s shirt.

There’s a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “You told me that, remember?” Yuuri asks. “Remember you said I could be less than perfect? It’s the same for you.”

Viktor purses his lips. “That’s. Not fair,” he says. “You can’t make my words tell me things.”

“I can so,” Yuuri mutters. “I just did. What’re you gonna do about it?”

At that, Viktor chuckles. It’s short-lived but genuine, and he wraps his arms around Yuuri, looking up at him with shining eyes. “I could tickle you ” he says with an eyebrow wiggle. Yuuri’s eyes widen and Viktor grins. “I could.”

“No,” Yuuri whispers, horrified.

Now wiggling his fingers, Viktor moves them clumsily in Yuuri’s direction. Squirming away, Yuuri finds himself on Viktor’s knees, hands on Viktor’s shoulders as he keeps him at arm's length.

“This is terrible, Vitya,” he slurs. “Terrible. Tickling ought to be illegal.” Reaching forward, Yuuri wiggles his fingertips near Viktor’s stomach before diving in, moving them all over his torso and sides and neck in search of a reaction. There is none.

“I’m not ticklish,” Viktor says, grinning, because he knows he’s going to win this fight. It’s technically a lie, he finds himself ticklish if he doesn’t know it’s coming, but he can usually anticipate an attempt and is rarely taken off guard, effectively rendering him mostly-not-ticklish.

Yuuri sits, mouth agape on Viktor’s knees. “You’re what? This isn’t fair. This is… Wrong,” Yuuri says. He tries again, wiggling his fingers in different ways, using different levels of pressure, and even pulling up Viktor’s shirt to tickle the bare skin underneath, but it’s all to no avail. “Are you a robot?” Yuuri asks.

“Lyubov just… just because you can’t tickle me doesn’t… why would I be a robot?”

“Because you’re not ticklish,” Yuuri says. “It’s a travesty. It’s not _fair._ Vitya, I’m _so ticklish.”_

Leaning forward, Viktor kisses his nose. “If you don’t want me to tickle you just tell me so,” he says. “I don’t want to make you not- not like how I treat you.”

“I don’t mind… little bits of tickles,” Yuuri says as he turns to reach behind himself, “but lots of them are unpleasant.” When he turns back, he has their wine in hand, holding Viktor’s out. Viktor takes it. The tanginess of the cherry wine pulls at Viktor’s cheeks as he drinks and when Yuuri kisses him again he can taste the same wine on Yuuri’s lips, the last remnants of the chapstick Yuuri’d put on after their shower earlier, also conveniently cherry-flavored.

Viktor loves cherries. He always has, but he finds himself with a new fondness for the flavor as they kiss. He snakes his hand under Yuuri’s shirt, resting it on his bare waist. Pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on Viktor’s, Yuuri breathes heavily.  

“We should probably go to bed,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Viktor’s lips.

“Are you tired, Lyubov?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri kisses him again. “I didn’t say that.”

 

~*~

 

Viktor breathes deeply as he runs next to Yuuri in the late morning sun. In front of them, Yuri comes to a stop near a small copse of trees in the outskirts of the gardens. Yuuri and Viktor follow suit, moving off the path as they open their water bottles.

“Anyway,” Yuri continues, “after the sixth time we moved I fuckin’ lost that cat figurine and I haven’t found another. Stopped giving so much of a shit.” Opening his water, Yuri takes a swig.

Standing casually under a tree, and barely out of breath at all, Yuuri finishes drinking and wipes his mouth with his bare arm. “Moving a lot sucks, why did you do it so much?” he asks, curious. Viktor winces internally. For all of Yuuri’s skill blending into common society, it’s increasingly obvious that it lies mostly in the superficial. In passing through society without drawing more attention than is absolutely necessary, as opposed to genuine interaction and understanding.

Yuri glares daggers. “The fuck else do you do when you can’t afford rent?” He glances behind Yuuri and his face darkens. “I should have figured you wouldn't fucking understand, Katsudon.”

Viktor looks in the same direction Yuri did. At the palace. It's a good distance away, but still towers above the surrounding gardens, resplendent in the sun against the rich blue of the sky. Yuuri hasn't missed the looks, and he sighs.

“You’re right,” Yuuri says, to the teenager’s surprise. “You're right. I don’t understand how it feels to have been in your situation, and I won’t pretend to. I grew up rich, lived in a palace for almost eight years of my life. I've never been financially unstable and likely never will be. I can’t sympathize there, but as far as being constantly on the move goes… I spent years living under different assumed names, in different cities. Years where every day I woke up wondering if I'd still be living there that evening.” He's starting at the palace now too, wistful. “So I know how _that_ goes.”

Yuuri doesn't elaborate beyond that. He doesn't tell Yuri that there are still days he wakes up, groggy and confused for a few minutes until he remembers they’re in Hasetsu. He doesn't discuss the sudden spikes of anxiety he has, when everything tells him this is temporary and he has to reassure himself, _convince_ himself he’s home and _staying_ home and that he doesn't have to worry anymore about having to go on the run again. Viktor doesn't say anything either. It’s hard enough for Yuuri to forgive himself for his panic, to remind himself that fifteen years of habits and thought patterns are hard to break, without feeling like he’s being judged. Viktor sighs, taking a large gulp of cool water.

“But you're right,” Yuuri says, turning back. “My question was insensitive, and for that I apologize.”

“Shit happens,” Yuri says with a shrug, staring at a nearby tree.

“Still,” Yuuri says. “It was definitely a prince-is-showing moment.”

“A what?” Yuri asks.

Blushing, Yuuri scratches the back of his head. “When I lived with Phichit, sometimes I'd just… act more royally than I usually did, or said something that wasn't normal enough, or just… Point is, he’d just tell me my prince was showing whenever I needed to tone it down in public. Or just to make fun of me in private.”

Yuri snorts. “You really sucked that bad at covering it up?”

“Sometimes,” Yuuri laughs, “especially at home. Hana-neechan and Minako-sensei mostly treat me the same here as they did in private while I was hiding, if that gives you an idea of how I grew up. Except I was Crown Prince, instead of King, so imagine like, casual lunches we’ve had with them. Except… all day every day.”

“Weird.” Yuri drinks more water, wiping his mouth on the hem of his tank top.

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees. “Acting normal was for in front of people, and I didn't get out of the house too often. So, the Royalty bit… bled out sometimes.”

“I didn't notice much,” Viktor says.

“You weren't _supposed_ to,” Yuuri replies. “I'm sure I got weirdly authoritative sometimes, Minako-sensei kept having to warn me about that when I got upset.” He kisses Viktor. “Anyway,” he says, looking at Yuri, “find information about that figurine and I'll see what I can do.”

“I don’t fucking need your pity,” Yuri bites.

“It was your birthday recently, was it not?” Yuuri asks. “It can be for that. And an apology.”

“Whatever,” Yuri says.

Yuuri looks at his watch. “We should go, Vitya has his stuff with Minako and I have… something.”

“A cabinet meeting, isn't it?” Viktor asks.

“Something like that,” Yuuri says, “I’ll be briefed once I'm dressed. Yura, you’re free to do as you will.”

“As long as you hit the gym!” Viktor adds. “Just follow your workout plan, we'll be done in the afternoon.”

“Are you going to the rink tonight?” Yuuri asks.

“No,” Viktor replies, “it’s a relatively easy day. We could go to the springs and soak tonight, that would be nice!”

“It would,” Yuuri says, taking another swig from his water bottle. “Yura?”

“Huh?”

“We were thinking the hot springs would be nice later. Sound good?”

Yuri looks between them. “Sure, whatever,” he says.

The run back to the palace seems shorter than the run out, and all three of them head off to take a shower. Yuuri and Viktor part ways with Yuri just outside their door. He mutters something about grabbing his work-out bag, before heading off down the hall.

Yuuri shrugs before they go into their room to shower and get dressed for their respective activities. After the casual workout clothing Yuuri was wearing for their run, he seems displeased to be forced back into the formalwear of court, moreso when he puts a crown on his head. He sighs.

Viktor pulls on a nice button-up and comfortable, if crisp, jeans, part of the clothing the palace had made for him so he knows it’s acceptable for day-to-day wear. He doesn't miss Yuuri’s look of longing. Smiling, he walks over and kisses his fiancé, letting his hand come to rest on the necklace hiding under Yuuri’s shirt. Yuuri mirrors the motion, touching Viktor’s chest with gentle fingers.

"I enjoyed our run,” Viktor says. Now that Yuuri has mostly settled back into life at the palace, and most of the chaos that comes with a transfer of power has died down, he’s starting to ease into a slightly more relaxed routine, including trying to go on more runs with Viktor. Trying to spend some more time with him in general, especially now that he’s usually able to take a day off every week.

Yuuri smiles at him. “I enjoyed it, too. Though I feel bad for upsetting Yura.”

“He’ll be okay. It’s a lot to get used to, especially since he met you when you were hiding, and thought you were…”

“Working class?” Yuuri asks.

“Yeah,” Viktor says.

Yuuri nods, rocking up on his tiptoes to kiss Viktor.

An attendant knocks on the door to let Yuuri know the people briefing him have arrived at his office. He thanks and dismisses them with a sigh. “Have fun with Minako-sensei,” he says to Viktor.

“I'll do my best,” Viktor replies. “Have fun with your meeting.”

Yuuri snorts. “Sure. I think it’s something about inter-city public transportation infrastructure or something. Fascinating.”

“Didn't you get your degree in this?” Viktor asks.

“Political Science, not Civil Engineering, and only because I was going to rule,” Yuuri responds.

“What would you have chosen?”

“I honestly don't know,” Yuuri says. “I never thought about it. I've literally been groomed for this since birth.” He sits to put his boots on, fingers deftly doing up the clasps. “Vitya, I took AP Social Studies throughout high school, I've been educated in politics since I was old enough to understand the most basic concepts. I used to sit in on my dad’s meetings and color. Politics has literally been the running theme in my life. I've never known anything else.”

“I'm sorry,” Viktor says.

Yuuri sighs. “You don't need to apologize. A lot of people, especially people who don't live under monarchies, don’t remember that being Royalty is inherently political. Even fewer realize the extent to which future monarchs are groomed for this, particularly in countries where we make decisions and legislation,” he says. “I mean, I enjoy politics, to an extent. Whether that’d be the case if I didn't grow up surrounded by them, I don't know. But I don't _hate_ what I do.”

Viktor nods, slipping his shoes on before sitting to tie them. “It just seems terrible,” he says, “to know you don't have a real choice.”

Now standing, Yuuri shrugs. “It is what it is. I could abdicate if I really wanted.”

“Do you?” Viktor finishes doing his laces, standing and brushing off his legs.

There’s a long pause, Yuuri lost in thought. “No,” he says after a while. “I’ve thought about it, but I think I can make a real change, here. I have a different mindset from, say, Mari, who grew up in the palace. Living abroad, especially as a commoner, is something literally no one in my family has experienced before and in doing so I learned a lot about _people_ that I think has… escaped notice by the upper class. Here, in this position, I think I could do something of value. Give my people a voice, serve them like I promised. That and I wouldn't know what to do with myself otherwise.” He chuckles, face quickly falling. Another sigh, and he kisses Viktor’s cheek.

“I know it’s weird and hard to understand,” Yuuri says.

“I'll do my best,” Viktor replies, pulling out his lip balm. He applies some to Yuuri’s lips, and then his own, smiling as he rubs his lips together.

There’s another knock on the door. “Your Majesty, the meeting starts in twenty minutes,” an attendant says.

Thanking them, Yuuri adjusts his crown, pulls at his sleeves. “I ought to go,” he says.

Viktor nods. “I'll see you for dinner, Lyubov.”

“If not before,” Yuuri says, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Viktor says, kissing him. Yuuri already looks tired, despite the energy he’s had just an hour ago, and Viktor hugs him tightly once more. They walk as far as Yuuri’s office together, saying their goodbyes with a chaste peck on the lips before Yuuri goes in to get briefed.

Walking to meet Minako, Viktor finds his fingers gravitating towards the warm metal snowflake lying heavy against his chest. The necklace carries a weight of its own, independent of its materials or construction and heavier than any medal Viktor’s worn before. Whether it’s the weight of the promise it symbolizes, or of the need for secrecy— or both— it’s hard to tell. Minako greets him with a smile when he arrives, pours a cup of tea and puts a few of his favorite cookies on a small plate.

“We’ll be going over the names, faces, and notable accomplishments of people you’ll need to be familiar with around court.”

Viktor nods. “Do I get flashcards?”

Minako laughs. “Do you _want_ them? I could arrange it for you.”

Sipping his tea, Viktor smiles. “I don't think that’ll be necessary.”

Minako starts with the extended members of the Royal Family, Yuuri’s aunts and uncles and cousins, branching into members of the cabinet, legal committees, and nobility.

She's halfway through the nobility when Viktor turns a page and feels his stomach drop.

 _‘Takeda Masayoshi, Equiv. English Title: Earl’_ is at the top of the page, directly above a picture of the man who threatened Viktor. Eyes wide, he meets hers as they narrow. Moving forward, she puts herself close to his ear. “Is this him?” she whispers.

Viktor nods. “Yes.”

Minako nods, discreetly marking that page in the book. “I think this is enough for today, you look quite tired. Would you like to join me for tea?”

Giving her an almost incredulous look, Viktor goes to protest, to ask her what she’s doing, but she holds up her hand. “I was thinking of inviting His Majesty, he should be finishing up with his meetings momentarily.” She gives him a pointed look. She wants them both to talk to Yuuri.

“That does sound good,” Viktor replies, grateful his voice is steadier than his nerves.

Minako gives him an approving nod. She scrolls through her phone, calling Yuuri’s office line directly. “Your Majesty,” she says once the phone is answered, “I was wondering if you would do me the honor of tea with myself and Mr. Nikiforov when you’re free,” she says. “I just remembered an old friend I wanted to tell you about, you know how forgetful I can be these days.” Pursing her lips, she waits for a response.

“Of course I wouldn't have any objection to Hana-chan coming along.” Winking at Viktor, she listens intently to whatever Yuuri’s saying on the other end, before thanking him and hanging up.

“His Majesty will be a moment,” Minako says to Viktor, “but will be more than happy to join us. Hana-chan will be there as well. We’ll be meeting them in the Garden Parlor.” It’s one of Viktor’s favorites, a ground-floor sitting room jutting out into the Royal Family’s private gardens. With three walls made of windows, the room is cheerful and brightly-lit, with greenery inside and out. Nice to read in with a cup of coffee and the windows open, and enough foliage to ensure relative privacy.

They end up at a table in the far corner. Hana is there already, putting a small black device in her purse. She gives a thumbs-up. Minako sighs with relief. Looking at Viktor, she speaks quietly. “Hana-san has swept the room. There are no bugs, though we’ll be speaking as indirectly as possible just to be safe. His Majesty knows what this is about. Keep a formal tone.”

Nodding, Viktor clears his throat. “Understood.” Sitting down, they are brought small glasses of water with a regretful message that Yuuri will be a few minutes longer. Minako dismisses the attendant, receiving merely a nod in return. The water arrives, and they’re left alone.

They’ve spent half an hour or so making small talk when the door is opened by an attendant. “His Royal Majesty the King,” she announces as she steps aside, bowing at the waist as Yuuri enters. Viktor, Hana, and Minako stand in unison and Yuuri smiles as he takes long strides across the room.

“I appreciate the invitation,” he says, “I was already looking forward to tea with Hana-san. Joining you both will be a refreshing end to my day.” Minako and Hana bow, smiling, Viktor following suit a moment after. Yuuri pecks him on the lips as he stands, with sparkling eyes and a smile that’s definitely a bit too genuine for court. Taking his seat next to Viktor, Yuuri gives a gesture of permission, indicating they should take theirs as well. They make small talk until the tea comes. Attendants file in with cookies, mini pastries, and scones arranged on tiered silver serving platters. The tea itself is a rich vanilla black, served in china teapots and matching cups and saucers rolled in on a cart. Impeccable, the silver highlights on the rims and handles of the tea set gleam in the light. It’s jarringly perfect, and Viktor takes a second to nod when Yuuri asks if he wants tea.

The attendant is sent out with orders to come back only when summoned, or unless their presence is specifically requested. When they’ve been alone for a few minutes, Yuuri shifts his chair so his leg is up against Viktor’s. Minako and Hana pretend not to notice, and Minako pulls out her binder.

“Your Majesty,” she says, her voice shifting out of its usual cheeriness, “I’m excited to say my friend will be visiting soon from out of town.”

“When can we expect him?” Yuuri asks.

“He’ll be in around the time of your Coronation Ball, Sire.”

Yuuri glances at Viktor. “What sorts of accommodation will he be needing?”

“My friend will be housed in one of the apartments in the palace for Guests of the King, he was one of the first invitees.”

“I see,” Yuuri responds, setting a newly-torn scone on his plate. “Is he bringing his own staff?”

“Just a valet,” Minako says, putting a lump of sugar in her tea. “Other staff will be provided as needed.”

Yuuri nods. With another glance at Viktor, he shifts even closer. “And what recommendations do you have for _my_ friend?”

“We recommend he be kept where he is. We suggest assigning him a 24 hour staff member, to sleep in a connected room in order to be sure his unique needs are met.”

Yuuri frowns at this.

“Your Majesty,” Hana interjects, “if I might also suggest allowing myself to be a personal guard of yours for the duration of the preparations for the ball.” At this Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

Viktor has no idea _why,_ though, and he falls back on his usual excuse for avoiding questionable press inquiries or asking for clarification on unpleasantly-phrased questions. “Vashe Velichestvo,” he says softly, “I'm afraid I still need work with my English, I'm not quite sure what the jargon means.” Yuuri makes eye contact with Viktor, frowning. He knows Viktor’s English is fine, and isn't picking up on the hint to explain things despite Viktor’s blatantly fake smile. Sighing, Viktor mouths “what the hell are you talking about,” being sure to enunciate clearly. Hana huffs, hiding a smile behind her teacup.

Yuuri’s eyes widen and he leans close, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s cheek before whispering in his ear. “The ‘old friend’ is this nobleman who threatened you. You are _my_ friend. I wanted to know how much staff he’s bringing so I know how many extra people we need to worry about. If you kiss me it will tell me you have enough information.”

Viktor kisses his lips in gratitude. Minako had suggested 24-hour guard for Yuuri’s ‘friend.’ Hana had offered her services to Yuuri. Viktor and Yuuri sleeping in the same room means, effectively, that they have the same guards. This means Hana wants to personally guard Viktor, believing him to be in that much danger. More understandable since the nobleman is apparently also staying in the palace soon. Viktor presses his leg to Yuuri's, grateful when he feels the reassuring press of Yuuri’s leg in return.

“When would this be effective, Hana-san?” Yuuri asks.

“As soon as Your Majesty allows,” she replies. “I was considering using the room off your private sitting room, in order to be as close as possible.”

Frowning, Yuuri leans forward. “The what? What room?”

“Connected to your bedchambers, Sire.”

Looking at Viktor, Yuuri appears flummoxed. His frown deepens, etching more lines into his forehead. “There’s a room connected to my bedchambers?”

“How did you not know this?” Hana asks quietly.

“I assumed people would, I don't know, tell me? About secret rooms?”

“Your Majesty, you spent five hours hiding in there as a child, we assumed you remembered,” Minako says.

“I did what? I literally don't remember this,” Yuuri responds, “it’s been fifteen _years,_ Sensei, my memory’s a bit fuzzy."

“Majesty, you used to tell stories about the room with the painting of the boats,” Hana says as she looks at him.

“I thought that didn't actually exist, I haven’t seen it since.”

“It does,” she replies. “It’s a bolt hole of sorts for the monarch, reinforced walls and only one entrance. When you were almost four you found it and hid and the entire palace was put on alert for hours until your father found you. Literally everything stopped.”

“Because I was out of sight for a bit?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow as he stirs sugar into his tea.

“Because you were presumed kidnapped for at least three of those hours,” Minako answers. “This was a few months after someone tried to abduct you at a parade.”

“Wait, what?” Surprised, Yuuri leans back in his chair.

“During an Independence Day parade, someone ran into the parade route and grabbed you. They got pretty far before they were stopped,” Minako says.

“How were they stopped?” Yuuri asks.

Minako sighs. “With a bullet to the leg, Your Majesty. You ended up with some bruises and minor abrasions from the fall, but mostly you were a bit shaken.”

 _“I was taught when I was grabbed, it was an attempted kidnapping at best.”_ Not without good reason. The more Viktor learns, the less needlessly overprotective the Royal Family seems. Viktor would be wary of everything, too. He’s becoming more cautious as time moves on though, and it’s probably for the better.

Aghast, Viktor looks at him. “You never knew?”

“I’ve always made it a point not to google myself, in case anyone got suspicious,” Yuuri says slowly. “So I wouldn't have read anything about it, and Nee-chan was more focused on current events and keeping me alive.”

“Your Majesty,” Minako says, “I would like to continue discussing the previous topic.”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies, nodding. Delicately, he sips his tea.

Viktor looks at his own, still steaming, and without further thought he dumps a teaspoon of jam in, stirring it gently. He takes a scone, tearing it down the center and putting a small dollop of jam on each. Cream follows, and he spreads them over the surface. Yuuri purses his lips, looking at his teacher.

“Isn’t it cream first?” he asks.

“Either is fine, we just tend to do it that way,” Minako responds.

He nods, taking a bite of his scone. “Do you advise additional security for my friend beyond current proposals?”

Hana leans forward. “Not yet. I'm considering having someone accompany _you_ at all times, though. Considering the amount of people that will be here, Your Majesty, I would feel better with the extra measure.”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Minako says, “we think it would be prudent for you to be sure you accompany His Royal Majesty as often as possible. To be seen together will improve your image.”

“Understood,” Viktor says. They want him under 24 hour surveillance without drawing attention to the fact that they’ve increased security for him _personally._ His heart leaps in his chest. Somehow it’s starting to feel more real, like his life is actually on the line. _It is,_ he remembers, and while he knew this could happen he’s finding himself unprepared for how it would feel. Getting accustomed to having bodyguards was hard enough, and the fact that they’re now _necessary_ isn’t easy to wrap his head around. Viktor wants to reach out and take Yuuri’s hand. He wants some sort of reassurance, a reminder that he's not alone in this, and he presses his knee against Yuuri’s leg, grateful when Yuuri gives a small push back.

“In the meantime,” Minako says, “we feel it prudent to ask that you both follow the rules of etiquette as much as possible. This includes speaking a bit more formally in all but the most private situations.” Minako looks at both of them.

With a sigh, Yuuri lets his shoulders droop before quickly correcting his posture. “I understand, Sensei.” His tone of voice hasn't changed, it's still mild and unassuming, but his face betrays his discomfort. “Title at all times outside of the bedroom?”

“I suppose the family dining room and your family’s private quarters would also be fine,” Minako says. “Please keep public displays of affection chaste and _not_ emotionally charged unless otherwise requested.”

Yuuri and Viktor nod together.

She slips a piece of paper out of her binder, setting it face down on the table. Sliding it across, it’s quickly picked up by Yuuri, who looks at it with a frown. He holds it out to Viktor. “Is this him?” he asks barely above a whisper.

“It is,” Viktor responds. Eyes wide, Yuuri nods, sliding the paper back over.

“We’ll be discreet, Sensei, I can assure you.”

“Of course,” she replies. “I have faith in you both.”

There’s a knock on the door. Minako finishes putting the paper in her binder as Atsuko walks in.

“Am I interrupting something?” Atsuko asks.

“Merely tea with His Majesty and Mr. Nikiforov,” Minako says. Hana nods in confirmation.

Viktor doesn’t miss the way Atsuko’s eyes move between their faces and the binder Minako is holding as she walks towards the table.

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Royal Majesty,” she says, bowing deeply, “but I'm heading out of town for the weekend and wished to say goodbye to my daughter.”

“Family is important,” Yuuri says. “I can understand. Feel free to say your farewells, I don't mind.”

“I appreciate your kindness.” Atsuko says, her smile splitting her face. She glances again at Minako’s binder, widening her smile just a bit as she looks back at her daughter. “I'll miss you so much,” she says.

“I'll miss you, too, Kaa-chan,” Hana replies, “but you'll only be gone a few days. We can have tea together when you get back.”

“Hana-san,” Yuuri says, “I would be glad to offer you and your mother the chance to have a full tea in the formal parlor of your choosing.”

“Very kind of you, Sire,” Atsuko responds, “but we couldn't possibly impose.”

Yuuri waves dismissively. “It would be my pleasure. Hana-san has served me well, honoring her service would be no imposition.”

“We would be happy to take you up on such a generous offer,” Hana says.

“Feel free to make the request at your leisure,” Yuuri responds. “I'll inform the Head Butler that such a request from you is to be honored.”

“Thank you,” Atsuko says, smiling at her daughter. “I'm sure it'll be wonderful, Your Majesty. I look forward to it.”

“I do hope it’s to your liking,” Yuuri replies.

Hana steps away with her mother, saying their goodbyes quietly in the far corner. Yuuri sits with impeccable posture, giving Viktor a reassuring smile as he sips his tea. He, like Viktor, is keeping his demeanor generally cheerful, but there’s no mistaking the underlying thrum of tension. Thankfully, it seems to escape Atsuko’s notice.

Taking her leave, Atsuko comes back to bow again to Yuuri before she heads out. Everyone waits in silence for a minute, before letting out a breath.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says as he grabs a petit-four, “what did you mean earlier when you said keep displays of affection private ‘unless otherwise requested?’”

“Ahh, about that,” Minako says, “we have taken the liberty of scheduling a casual photoshoot for an article touching on the two of you and your relationship. The Palace feels that it may help public perception of your relationship if you two are shown as relatable.” She pours herself another cup of tea. “Not that social media hasn’t fallen in love with the pair of you already,” she continues, smiling. “We’re hoping the article will come out the day after the Coronation Ball.”

“What will be expected of us?” Yuuri asks.

“A photoshoot and a few questions. The shoot will take place both within the Palace itself and on the grounds. It will be relatively casual, especially considering it’s your formal debut world-wide as a couple.” Minako finishes stirring sugar into her tea, settling into her chair. “The questions will be basic and expected. We can work on your responses closer to the date.”

“What do they want to know?” Yuuri asks.

“How you met, about your time in hiding, Your Majesty, and your reaction, Mr. Nikiforov, to finding out he is royalty. You make quite the intriguing couple, if I may be so bold. Akitsushima’s Lost Crown Prince-Turned-King in a relationship with Russia’s National Hero and Figure Skating’s Living Legend? Each of you is extraordinary on your own, but as you're _together,_ the world is clamoring for a glimpse of your lives.”

Yuuri blushes as he looks at his teacup. “We _do_ make quite the pair, don't we?” he asks softly. Hana chuckles, grabbing and squeezing his hand. She pulls quickly away when there’s a knock on the door. An attendant walks in, bowing at the waist as she addresses Yuuri.

“Your Majesty,” she says, “Mr. Plisetsky is here. Shall I direct him to wait elsewhere?”

After thinking for a moment, Yuuri shakes his head. “He may join us. Please have a new pot of tea and an additional cup brought as well.”

“Yes, Sire,” the attendant says, bowing again and leaving. After a moment Yuri walks in, freshly showered. He takes the only remaining seat next to Viktor, slouching in his chair until Minako gives him a look.

“Mr. Plisetsky,” she says, “please conduct yourself in a manner befitting tea with His Royal Majesty.”

Glancing at Viktor, Yuri huffs and sits up straight. Leaning over, Viktor whispers in his ear. “Pretend we’re at Lilia’s fancy yearly party with her friends.”

“Lilia isn’t fucking _royalty,_ Viktor.”

“No,” he responds, “but it’s still formal and closer to the conduct required here than anything else.”

Yuri looks at Minako and Hana, and then at Yuuri (who doesn't look entirely comfortable with the state of things) before sighing. “Apologies,” he mutters.

“Accepted,” Yuuri says with a sympathetic smile. “Did you just get back from the gym?”

Nodding, Yuri grabs a few cookies, setting them on his plate. An attendant enters with the new pot of tea and additional milk and sugar, replacing those already on the table. Yuri pours himself a cup, splashing some milk in and giving it a brief stir.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Minako says, “recently Mr. Plisetsky has shown a great deal of improvement in his lessons.”

“Has he?” Viktor asks. Smiling, he looks at his little cousin, then back to Minako.

“He has. His form is improving, and I can see the effort he’s putting into constant self-evaluation. Quite impressive.”

“Does she know? Is that why she’s being nice?” Yuri asks, glaring across Viktor.

“No,” Yuuri says, “and she won’t unless you allow it.”

“Oh.” He sits back in his chair. “You trust them?” he asks.

“With my life,” Yuuri replies, “literally.”

Glaring across the table until he sees Minako glaring at _him_ to stop slouching again, Yuri sighs and looks at Viktor.

“You can tell them if they promise not to say shit,” he says to Viktor.

Viktor meets their eyes, each of them nodding in turn.

“He's my cousin,” Viktor says, “but for professional reasons we'd rather keep it private, I'm sure you can understand.”

“Of course,” Hana replies. “We won't tell a soul.”

Minako nods in agreement. “Mr. Nikiforov, I'd like to commend your phrasing and tone, there. Expectant, but not pushy. Well-suited to court.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says. Looking at Yuuri, he sees him smiling.

“Is this what the gag order was about?” Hana asks.

Yuuri nods. “It is. Mr. Plisetsky’s athletic integrity could be called into question, so I must insist that under no circumstances this information be released unless under duress.”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty,” Hana replies.

“What does ‘under duress’ mean?” Yuri asks.

“It means,” answers Yuuri, “they can tell people if they’re being coerced. Forced to.”

“Oh,” Yuri says. Picking up a cookie, he dips it in his tea before taking a bite.

“Regardless of relation,” Minako says, “Mr. Plisetsky is showing improvement.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Viktor replies.

“Mr. Plisetsky,” Yuuri says, “I'm not sure I ever introduced you, but this is Kataoka Hana, the bodyguard who raised me.”

Yuri looks at her. “She looks familiar.”

“Does she?” asks Yuuri with wide eyes.

“I'm sure I do,” Hana says, smiling. “At dinner, the one where you smashed your… With Madame Baranovskaya, I was seated directly in Mr. Plisetsky’s line of sight.”

Yuri’s eyes widen in understanding as Minako looks at Yuuri. “I'm surprised you didn't break your nose,” she says.

Yuuri’s jaw drops. “Hana-san, you told her?”

“I didn't,” Hana says. “You asked me not to, I kept my promise.”

“Sire,” Minako says, “I _do_ keep up with Madame Baranovskaya. She told me.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, suddenly calm. He pushes his leg against Viktor's, and Viktor returns the gesture with his knee. Absently, Yuuri’s fingers brush against the pendant he wears. Minako looks between Viktor and Yuuri thoughtfully. Hana frowns at them, and then Minako, before making a questioning face at Yuuri, who’s put his hand on the table and is steadfastly staring at the cup of tea in front of him.

Tension lies thick in the air, and it doesn't escape Yuri’s notice either. “We have practice tomorrow, right?” he asks. His voice is shaky and he knows they do, and must be trying to pull attention away from Viktor and Yuuri. Smart kid. Viktor lets out a sigh of relief and gives him a smile.

Minako looks at him. “Ballet? No, we don't. You're going to the rink, I believe.”

“Yep,” Viktor says. “Rink practice tomorrow. We’ll be taking video for Yakov.”

“Do you want a cameraperson?” Yuuri asks. “I can ask someone to take the footage you need, so you can focus on the skating.”

“Can’t the dude that goes with us do it?”

“Yura,” Viktor says, “Yulian’s my bodyguard.”

“All he does is sit on a bench and watch us skate,” Yuri responds, “it’s not like there’s any real guarding to be done. You said so yourself, he’s just keeping us from getting mobbed.”

Viktor manages to keep his nerves hidden as he takes a long sip of his tea. Last week, Yuri would have been right, as far as anyone had known. When Viktor had explained his situation to Yuri, that he has almost full-time bodyguards, their function had been mostly crowd control. Things can change in the blink of an eye, though, and so far being with Yuuri has been one surprise after another, for better or worse.

“Regardless,” Minako says just before any awkwardness has time to settle, “we would rather a professional handle the equipment to prevent damage. Bodyguards serve their own function, they shouldn't be tasked with something that could prevent them from doing their job. We don't know who's going to show up at the rink.”

“Having someone to film sounds good, Velichestvo,” Viktor says. “I can have myself filmed as well, send that to Yakov so he has it.”

Yuuri smiles. “Of course, Vitya. I'll have them meet you out front, you can explain what you need from them on the ride over. Will they need to know how to skate?”

“No,” Viktor says. “We typically just leave a camera on the boards so having anyone there at all is going to help.”

“Understood,” Yuuri says. “I'll put in the request before dinner.”

“I appreciate it,” Viktor replies with a smile. Taking Yuuri’s hand, Viktor squeezes it and smiles. Yuuri squeezes in return, running his thumb along the back of Viktor’s hand.

 

~*~

 

“We should invite your family out,” Yuuri says as he sinks into the hot waters of the springs, “I know my mother’s been dying to meet yours in person. I’m pretty sure they’ve chatted on the phone, though.”

“What makes you say that?” Viktor asks as he moves closer, glancing at the small building. Yuri’s still inside, likely washing up. Or on his phone. Perhaps both, but regardless, he’s not in the pool.

“She was promising whoever she was on the phone with yesterday that she’d send pictures of us from the upcoming photo shoot,” Yuuri says, grinning. “Apparently ‘Vicchan and Yuuri-kun are going to look so _handsome,’_ according to her, and I don’t know who else she’d have talked about us like that to.”

Smiling, Viktor wraps his arm around his fiancé. “I’d love to have them visit.”

The door opens and Yuri joins them, sighing as he lowers himself into the heat of the water.

“We can have them in spring,” Yuuri suggests. “Maybe over spring break for Katya?”

“Mmm, we’d have to plan carefully. Passover’s in spring and my moms usually host the seder,” Viktor remarks. Yuuri looks up at him.

“Is Passover the one where you make the triangle cookies?” he asks.

“That’s fuckin’ Purim,” Yuri responds. “Passover’s the one with plagues and shit.”

“And matzoh and a huge dinner with family. You and your grandpa should come to our Passover seder next year,” Viktor says to Yuri. “My moms would love to have you guys.”

“Fuck no,” Yuri retorts, glaring at him through the steam. “It’s bad enough with the four questions with my grandpa, I’m tired of reading them and I’m not fucking reading them in front of _you.”_

Viktor snorts. “My little sister’s two years younger than you,” he says. “If anyone’s going to be stuck reading them it’s her.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asks.

Both Viktor and Yuri look at him. “Well,” Viktor says, “on Passover, during dinner— the seder— we read a bunch of stuff from a book and one thing is having the youngest person at your table read four questions a kid might ask? It’s a longstanding tradition, and it always falls to the youngest. My brother and I used to fight about it all the time.” He chuckles.

“Why’d you fight?” Yuri asks.

“I’m the younger twin,” Viktor says, “so I spent years being the one to do it all until I complained enough that we were pretty much the same age. At that point our moms made us each read two of them. Lyosha wasn’t happy because he’d avoided it for years, and I wasn’t happy because I’d wanted him to have to read _all_ of them. Our family thought it was adorable having both of us doing it for a few years, though.”

“And then your sister was born,” Yuri says.

Laughing, Viktor nods. “She actually likes it though? I don’t even know why but she turns it into a performance of sorts every year, doing different voices and stuff.” The video Alexei had sent from this year’s seder had included different hats and voices and an impressive fake moustache for the last question. He’s sorry he missed it. Under the water, Yuuri takes his hand, rubbing the back with his thumb. He knows Viktor hasn't been home for a seder in years.

“Your sister is weird.” Sinking into the bath, Yuri gives Viktor a look.

“Tell me about it,” he replies, “she wants to play ice hockey, too.”

“Heck yeah,” Yuri says, “she can fuck people up with her knife shoes.”

Yuuri looks between them. “Would ice skates even make an effective weapon?” he asks.

Raising one eyebrow, Yuri stares at him. “I’ve fucked myself up on my own toe picks,” he says. “I’ve seen Viktor fuck himself up with a toe pick, like, a lot. Yeah you could do it if you wanted to.”

“You know how sharp the blades are, too,” Viktor says. “You can’t tell me you’ve never tripped.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, “but they’d be awkward to hold, I’d think.”

Shrugging, Viktor leans against the edge of the pool. “Point is, it could be done.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri says, sinking into the water.

“You spend a lot of time wondering what would make a good weapon?” Yuri asks him.

“I spend a lot of time figuring out how to protect myself,” Yuuri replies.

“Like shooting guns and shit?”

“Among other things.”

“Wait, seriously?” Yuri asks.

The look Yuuri gives him is strange as he nods. “They need me able to defend myself if necessary. If it takes grabbing a firearm to do it… Well, that’s what it takes. I'm trained to handle most of the more common firearms. If something happened to Hana there was a procedure I was supposed to follow, starting with arming myself and getting to a rendezvous point.”

“What were you supposed to do after that?” Yuri moves closer, enraptured.

“Meet with whoever was stationed where I was, confirm their identity, and come home. Failing that, I’d get on the next plane to Hasetsu and make my way home alone, hopefully without having to fight.”

“Do you know martial arts?”

“Basic self-defense.” Sighing, Yuuri shifts to lean against Viktor. “It wasn't fun or exciting or anything,” he says, “I was preparing to fight for my life. I keep up on it for the same reasons.”

“Sounds like it sucked,” Yuri mutters.

“It is what it is,” Yuuri responds. “Oh, umm, I've arranged a trip to the zoo for us. It’ll be closed to the public, so none of us get mobbed.”

“That sounds fun!” Viktor exclaims.

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “We’ll have a few hours. I'll be paying for food and souvenirs, so feel free to get what you guys want.”

“Can I get one of those giant stuffed cats?” Yuri asks.

Yuuri nods. “Sure, if you want.”

“Yura,” Viktor says, “your apartment isn’t _that_ big.”

“He could keep it here,” Yuuri says. “I'll give it a bedroom.”

There’s a sparkle in the smile he gives Viktor. Yuri, too, looks thrilled, and Viktor finds himself chuckling happily, pressing another kiss to Yuuri’s temple.

 

~*~

 

That night, Hana meets them in Yuuri’s bedroom. Even after the door is closed, she holds a finger to her lips and walks over to the fireplace. There must be a mechanism hidden somewhere in the scrolling metalwork up the sides, because Hana runs her hand along it until she pauses. Viktor hears a small click, and then a panel in the wall slides open.

They enter a large bedroom, though quite small by the palace’s standards. A bed is against the wall opposite the door. Near it, a desk, and a table that would seat four fairly comfortably. Makkachin sniffs around, exploring the room and nosing the surprisingly clean furniture. Hana drops her duffel bag next to the bed.

“This is it, Majesty,” she says.

“Nee-chan, can we just. In private,” Yuuri says, flushing, “I mean. A free day? But… for good?”

“A what?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri looks at him, closing his eyes as he sighs. “A ‘free day,’” he says. “When I was younger the… not-being-treated-normally-at-home thing sort of got to me. Hiding in public, no equals at home…” Crossing his arms, he stares at the floor.

“It’s part of a system,” Hana explains. “Most of it is irrelevant now, but he used to ask for a free day when he wanted all decorum dropped. When he needed to just be treated… well, I wouldn't say _normally,_ but casually.”

“What’s the difference?” Viktor asks.

Dropping onto the couch, Yuuri sighs. “I guess… Technically normal, for me, has _always_ been with titles. Being deferred to. I was raised like that here, I was deferred to abroad by _everyone_ who actually knew who I was up until a few years ago. I was introduced to the nation by my title before my parents had come up with my name. _That’s_ ‘normal’ for me, but I needed… to just be a person,” he says. “Here at the palace it would have been my family, mostly, that was casual with me like that, gave me that sense of familiarity. Maybe a few close friends. But while I was gone, the only people I didn’t have to hide from were required to treat me as their better, even as a child. It… kept me in the habits I needed but it got lonely. So, Nee-chan told me I could take free days. That meant no titles, no propriety. We didn’t pretend I wasn’t a prince, but we pretended it was irrelevant.”

Viktor sits next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “I see,” he says, kissing Yuuri’s nose. It sounds incredibly lonely, and it’s increasingly clear just why Yuuri was so able to put Viktor at ease when they met. He’d known exactly what Viktor had needed.

Scrunching his face, Yuuri sticks out his tongue before kissing Viktor’s chin. Viktor kisses his lips, looks into his eyes with new understanding. Yuuri smiles knowingly and kisses him again before turning back to Hana, gesturing for her to go on.

Hana thanks him with a nod. “I’d like to take up residence here until we figure things out. I’ve alerted the Guard that I’ll be staying here over nights.”

“And the rest of the time?” Yuuri asks. “You mentioned you wanted a 24-hour guard.”

“I'll sleep in here during the day, so if you're in here I'm available. I’ve asked several members of the guard that I trust to keep a close eye on you as you move around the grounds. Told them it was just because we’ll be having guests.” Sitting in an armchair, Hana leans back and crosses her legs.

“Speaking of guests,” Yuuri says, “why do we have to let that asshole stay _here?_ He threatened Vitya!”

“We can’t randomly just take back _one_ invitation to stay. It’s a blatant snub, and he’d know for a fact Viktor told you.”

“What if his room is messed up and he can’t stay here? I’ll pay for whatever hotel room he wants, even a Royal Suite, I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Yuuri-kun,” Hana says, “it’s still suspicious. He can't feel like he’s being singled out. At all. Being the only person sent away would make him feel that way, which would make him wonder if Viktor said something, which is exactly what we _don’t_ want. We’d either have to do the same thing for everyone if we’re going to avoid suspicion, which would piss a lot of people off and be even worse, or we’d have to put him up in a different room, still on the grounds.”

Sighing, Yuuri leans back. “Fine. Okay. I don’t like this at all, though. Not one bit.”

“I know,” Hana says. “I know, Yuuri-kun.”

 

~*~

 

Halfway through Yuri’s last practice in Hasetsu, things come to a halt when they hear the front doors open. Normally, during practices, the doors are locked to ensure privacy, the public not allowed in until Viktor’s been driven away. Viktor wonders who’s here. It’s not long before he gets his answer, smiling when he sees Yuuri walk into the rink area with a grin on his face.

“The fuck is he doing here?” Yuri grumbles. “We have practice.”

“You’re doing well,” Viktor responds, waving him off. He skates over to the boards as Yuuri comes close.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yuuri says. “I know you two are working on Yura’s program but I unexpectedly got the afternoon off, so I thought I’d come skate, if you were okay with it.”

“Of course, Velichestvo,” Viktor responds.

Grinning, Yuuri pulls out his gear bag. He’s in a tracksuit, black with blue accents, with his hair combed to one side rather than gelled back like it normally is. He sits down on a nearby bench, pulling his skates out and replacing the soft guards with the hard. Putting them on, Yuuri laces them with deft fingers, tying them in no time and jumping to his feet.

“Can I laugh if he falls flat on his face?” Yuri asks, smirking as Yuuri enters the rink.

“Only if I can laugh when you do,” Yuuri retorts, skating over. Coming smoothly to a stop in front of Viktor, he kisses him. “I can stay out of the way if you guys want to run stuff, I don’t mind.”

“We can have some fun, first,” Viktor says, “and then Yura can run his routine one last time before we leave.”

“You want me to perform it or some shit for him?”

“I’d like to see it, if you’re okay with that,” Yuuri says.

Glaring through his hair, Yuri scoffs.

They make a game of things, racing around the ice with abandon. The bodyguards posted around the rink act indifferent, keeping their eyes on Yuuri, the windows, and all exits. Eventually, Viktor’s able to persuade Yuuri to skate Stammi Vicino, earning a look of admiration from Yuri when he thinks no one can see him. Viktor understands. Yuuri’s ability to cover his emotions belies his ability to show them in each movement of his body, in his facial expressions, in the way he reaches across the ice with love and longing.

When Yuuri skates back over, flushed and sweaty, Viktor calls for a final run-through of Agape. Yuri takes a few laps, and while Viktor watches he feels an arm around his waist. Looking over, Yuuri’s smiling at him.

“I love you,” Yuuri whispers with a fond smile.

“I love you, too,” Viktor whispers in return.

“What are you… _people_ doing?! You're supposed to be watching me skate!” Yuri shouts from the center of the ice.

“Sorry, Yurio,” Yuuri responds, laughing.

“That’s not my name!”

“Remember to let yourself _feel_ the emotion!” Viktor reminds him, “Agape! Unconditional love!”

“I _know,”_ Yuri says, “I've done this before, just start the music so I can get it over with!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Viktor laughs.

“Is he usually this abrasive during practice?” Yuuri asks as Yuri takes another lap.

“No,” Viktor says, smiling, “he’s behaving because your bodyguards are here.”

“Huh.”

Yuri takes his starting position, and Viktor presses play.

 

“It's beautiful,” Yuuri whispers as Yuri moves into his final spin.

“He’s really improved,” Viktor responds, “I'm proud of him.”

“You ought to tell him that,” Yuuri says, “I don't think he hears it enough.”

“He doesn’t.” Viktor claps as Yuri takes his final pose, breathing hard. Yuuri joins in, and when the teenager skates over to them he’s red from exertion.

“Well?”

“Good work,” Viktor says. “Let's head back. The hot springs sound nice, and we need to be well-rested for our trip to the zoo tomorrow!”

“Sure,” Yuri mutters.

“Yura,” Yuuri says, smiling.

“What?”

“They said you could pet some cats.”

Yuri smiles the whole drive home, as much as he tries to hide it.

 

~*~

 

Yuri’s elbow-deep in lion mane with wide, shining eyes when Viktor takes a picture.

 **@v-nikiforov: With** **@yuri-plisetsky** **at** **@akitsu_royal_zoo** **seeing some #lions, courtesy of** **@hrm-yuuri-aki** **!! #liontamer**

“How did you get them to let me do this?” Yuri says, stroking the lion’s mane gently. The handler is on the other side, reassuring the cat.

“I told them I wanted you to.”

“Just like that?”

“I mean… Ok, you know how Viktor can go into an ice rink and people just let him do his thing? Because he’s _Viktor Nikiforov?”_ Yuri nods with a scowl. “Well, I can do that… pretty much anywhere in this country. And I technically own the zoo to begin with.” He flushes, clearly uncomfortable.

“You do?” Yuri looks at him, eyes wide.

Nodding, Yuuri smiles as he rubs the back of his head. “It’s called the ‘Royal Zoo’ for a reason. Royal properties belong to the sovereign. In this case, me. Anything with ‘Royal’ in its name is considered a royal property.”

“Holy shit,” Yuri mutters.

Yuuri shrugs, crossing his arms. The lion stalks off, and Yuri stands all the way up.

“Do you guys have tigers?”

Yuuri smirks and leaves the enclosure with a nod.

 

Finished with the big cats, they grab themed drinks at a nearby kiosk, Yuri taking advantage of the seemingly unlimited budget to get every snack that looks appetizing. Or has a cool name. Or resembles a cat in any way. Rolling his eyes, Yuuri just hands over his debit card as needed. He indulges Viktor as well, on occasion. They see the food court, all stalls open and finishing preparations for when the zoo will open to the public in a couple of hours.

Yuuri stops in his tracks. “How would you say the pizza is,” he says, looking at the tour guide. “I’d prefer honesty if you will, I’m trying to figure out what I want as far as food goes and haven’t had a good piece of pizza in forever.”

“I go there a few times a week on lunch breaks,” she replies. “We do screen our vendors randomly to make sure they’re serving food that’s good quality, though, so I can assure you anything will be to your liking, so long as it’s… I mean… to your liking. The vendors are all able to take orders at the moment, Your Majesty.”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “I’d like to get pizza, then. What will you two have?” he asks, turning to Viktor and Yuri.

“Pizza sounds fuckin’ nice,” Yuri mutters, looking at Viktor as if waiting for a refusal. Aside from the odd bag of chips and a soda, Yuri doesn’t often stray from his admittedly lax meal plan, and Viktor grins. They both deserve a little indulgence.

“Pizza _does_ sound good!” he exclaims. “I won’t tell Yakov if you don’t!” He gives Yuri a wink, and the teen smiles.

 

Ten minutes later, Viktor wonders, as he does on occasion, how it is he managed to fall in love with Yuuri when Yuuri does things like order Hawaiian Pizza with both extra ham, and extra _pineapple._

“I can’t kiss you,” Viktor says, grateful this visit is considered private and, therefore, relatively casual so he can pretend they’re just hanging out.

“What?” Yuuri’s looking at him with wide eyes now, a bit of sauce smeared on the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, Velichestvo,” Viktor says mournfully. “Alas, I cannot kiss you.”

Yuuri looks down at the pizza in his hand. “Is it the pineapple?”

Viktor nods as he takes a bite of his own. “There’s no excuse,” he says.

Moving close enough to speak quietly, Yuuri looks up at Viktor. “What the fuck is wrong with pineapple on pizza?”

“What _isn’t?”_ Yuri mutters next to them.

Viktor snorts. “At least taste runs in the family,” he says. There’s a fleeting moment of nerves before Yuri grins.

“Fuck yeah it does,” he agrees. Relief settles Viktor’s heart, and he shares a smile with his little cousin.

“Rude to me,” Yuuri gripes. “Both of you. Here, in my own zoo.” Taking a huge bite of his pizza, he gets halfway through chewing it before holding up a finger. “Anyway,” he says around a mouthful, “the sweetness of the pineapple _really_ complements the saltiness of the ham and such.”

“It’s disgusting,” Yuri says.

“More for me,” Yuuri replies with a shrug. Viktor indulges him, kisses his cheek as he chews the bite he’d been working on, and after he’s swallowed, Yuuri pecks Viktor’s lips with a grin.

They walk as they eat, the tour guide talking about the various animal enclosures and how the zoo’s care and conservation efforts are doing. The plates are thrown away, more drinks are bought, and they’re just passing a statue of a zebra when Yuuri gasps and runs ahead. He’s smiling against a fence by the time Viktor and Yuri catch up. When Viktor glances at the enclosure, he sees an elephant shoving leaves into its mouth near the fence.

“Who’s this?” Viktor asks.

“It’s a fucking elephant, Viktor.” Yuri says, standing back a few feet.

“It’s Muzumi-chan,” Yuuri answers with a smile, holding his hand out. The elephant walks over, letting him rest his hand on her trunk. “She’s been here almost my whole life, we practically grew up together. I used to come see her all the time before I left. It’s been so long, I’m surprised she remembers me.”

Smiling, Viktor watches Yuuri pet the elephant. A sign catches his eye nearby.

 _Muzumi, Indian Elephant (Elephas Maximus Indicus)_ _  
_ _Presented as a gift to His Royal Majesty King Yuuri, on the occasion of his third birthday (November, 1995)_

Yuri scoffs next to him. “The elephant was a fucking birthday present?”

“It’s not my fault,” Yuuri says. “Most of the gifts have been far less elaborate.”

“Most of them? What the fuck else did they give you, Kats-“ he snaps his mouth closed when Yuuri shoots him a glare. “What else did they give you?”

“Uhh, I got a boat at one point, I think? I don’t remember. I’m reasonably sure someone tried to give me an island once. I’ve gotten a few horses.” He continues petting Muzumi. “Muzu-chan was orphaned,” he says sadly. “Poachers. So she integrated into the herd here pretty well.”

“She’s beautiful,” Viktor says softly. “Did you name her?”

Yuuri nods, blushing.

“Muzumi’s a nice name.”

“It… Viktor it means ‘grey,’ I was three.”

Yuri snorts behind them, and Viktor tries to force down a smile. “Still, though!”

“You’re laughing!” Yuuri says, cheeks turning a soft pink.

“Well, it's cute!” Viktor exclaims with a kiss on his fiancé’s nose.

 

They end up in an area with various livestock, either rare breeds or endangered that the zoo is taking care of. Yuuri smiles as he leans on a fence. “I miss 4H,” he says, staring wistfully at a cow chewing nearby.

“The fuck is that?” Yuri snorts.

“Uhh, handling livestock. Cows, horses, sheep, pigs. I did it while I was in middle school,” Yuuri answers. He looks over at the person with them. “I’d like to pet her, if possible,” he says, “she looks like a sweetheart.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she says before heading off to get one of the handlers available.

Yuuri moves in front of Viktor. “Vitya,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to say yes, you’re under no obligation, but I’m wondering if you’d like to go in with me and try to pet her. I’m used to cows and I can help make sure you’re safe.”

Pet the cow. Viktor feels the familiar spike of fear jolt through him as he looks at the animal. She’s not doing anything threatening, just chewing some grass in the field, but a sense of foreboding comes over him regardless. His breathing quickens, his heart pounds in his chest, and when he feels a hand on his cheek he looks at Yuuri with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri says. It’s exactly what Viktor was hoping to hear. “You’re safe back here, you can stay here.” Wordlessly, Viktor nods. Yuuri smiles, pulling off his jacket. “Would you hold this, then?” he asks.

“Of course, Velichestvo,” he says. Yuuri smiles, hearing the gratitude in Viktor’s tone.

The handler comes over, and Yuuri rolls up his sleeves as he follows them into the enclosure. Yuri follows behind, looking back at Viktor with an eye roll. He should have known Yuri was going to be an ass about this. Taking pictures as they pet the animal, he drafts a few Instagram posts for Yuuri to look over when he’s back, being careful not to drop the suit jacket in the few minutes Yuuri and… Yuri pet the cow. He chuckles. The shared name between his fiancé and little cousin is a small source of amusement, though Viktor finds it more amusing than either of them. Yuri finds it downright irritating and Yuuri is mostly indifferent, having literally had many of the nation’s children named after him at the time of his birth.

It’s a bit creepy, to be honest, and Viktor watches on while they feed the cow hay. Yuuri had played the part of ‘relative nobody’ well, but he’d never _been_ one. Even Viktor, at the height of his career, has nowhere near the level of reverence and adoration from the people of his country as Yuuri’s had his entire life, and while Yuuri had played at anonymity, he’d never truly understood. The reminders of this are rare, but always somewhat jarring.

Yuri scoffs as he walks back over. “I don’t see why you were so scared it’s a fucking _cow,_ Viktor.”

Narrowing his eyes, he looks at his little cousin. “I just am.”

“It’s stupid,” Yuri retorts. “There are better things to be scared of than a fucking _cow.”_

Rolling down his sleeves, Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “That animal weighs about a ton and can run at 25 miles per hour, which is somewhere in the vicinity of, what, 40 kilometers per hour?” he asks Viktor. Viktor just shrugs. He’s never cared to think about how fast cattle could chase him and he doesn’t intend to start now. “Anyway,” Yuuri continues, “she could have killed you without a second thought. Don’t mistake gentleness for harmlessness, and don’t mistake compliance for weakness.”

Yuri crosses his arms in front of him, looking to the side. Viktor sighs. “Yura,” he says, “it’s a _phobia_ , it doesn’t _have to_ make sense.”

“Oh,” Yuri replies apologetically. He looks chagrined, and Viktor’s face softens.

Pulling his jacket on, Yuuri sighs. “I’m absolutely terrified of geese,” he says. “They’re vicious, you know.”

“Huh?” Yuri looks up with a raised eyebrow as they start walking.

With large gestures, Yuuri tells the story of how he’d been chased across the palace grounds, how Minako and Lilia helped patch him up. As entertaining as the story is, Yuuri’s words run through Viktor’s mind on repeat.

_“Don’t mistake compliance for weakness.”_

If anyone is a living example of that, it’s Yuuri. He’s been good since he found out about the threat. He’s followed the rules, dressed as expected, has kept his protests to the little things to keep some semblance of normalcy. Yuuri is being very compliant. Has been since well before Viktor knew him, if he’d been living under the Security Team’s control since he left the country to begin with.

Yuuri is very much not weak, though, and Viktor sees that in the set of his shoulders and the fire in his eyes. He sees it in the decreasing patience Yuuri has for the Palace’s rules and procedures, and he sees it in the way Yuuri doesn’t allow people to forget who he is, doesn’t allow them to brush him to the side on account of his age or inexperience. Yuuri is _acting_ compliant right now, yes, but he’s not weak. Never weak, and part of Viktor feels bad for having believed Yuuri wouldn’t be able to handle a relationship with him.

But then, Yuuri is a master of making himself look unassuming. In Detroit, Viktor had only ever gotten mere glimpses of the authority Yuuri seems to command so naturally and to see the staggering difference in the way Yuuri carries himself is still somewhat strange. In private he’s almost exactly the same as he had been, but now that Viktor _knows,_ he can see the mannerisms Yuuri’s had trained into him in even their most casual interactions.

 

Their tour concludes quickly after they visit the apiary, and many of the zookeepers and staff line up to greet and thank Yuuri again on his way out. He shakes each person’s hand after they bow, Viktor and Yuri doing the same as they stay at his side. Yuri gets out a few muttered ‘thank you’s as he moves down the line, the most enthusiastic of which is to the person who’d handled the cats while he pet them.

The drive to the palace is quiet and relatively peaceful. Yuri stares out the window the entire time, but somehow his posture is more relaxed than usual, some sort of tension off his shoulders. Viktor sits back in his seat while Yuuri leans against him, circlet abandoned on the seat next to Yuri. It’s not often Yuri gets this sort of peace, Yakov typically filling the air with his commentary ad nauseum. When it’s not Yakov, it’s Mila or Georgi, or on rare occasions, Lilia. Yuuri, too, seems to be savoring this as he sighs heavily against Viktor’s chest.

The sunset over the cityscape is beautiful. Reds blend with golds, pinks, and purples against a darkening blue sky while lighted buildings shimmer below. The Palace is on a low hill, overlooking the ocean and Viktor never tires of the drive in the evenings. It reminds him of St. Petersburg, in a way, how the sun greets Hasetsu over the ocean to the east, setting behind buildings both traditional and modern to the west. Before long, they’re pulling into the palace gates. Resplendent even in the low light, the sight takes Viktor’s breath away. He’s not sure he’ll ever manage to get used to this. Once they get out of the car, he takes a second to look, before smiling at Yuri, wrapping his hand around his fiancé’s, and heading into the palace.

 

Dinner that night is katsudon, a farewell for Yuri before he flies back to Russia. He’ll be escorted onto the plane, flying on a private jet directly to St. Petersburg where either Lilia or Yakov will pick him up. Viktor has sent all his flight information ahead via email, and Yuri hasn’t put up much of a fuss. He seems happy to be leaving, excited to see his cat again. Viktor promises to Skype him some in the coming weeks, to give him pointers and adjust his form as needed, and returns Yuri’s grateful smile. They soak again when they’re done, Yuri enjoying the hot springs while he still has the chance.

 

~*~

 

Just after lunch the next day, Yuri’s bags are packed and loaded into the limo while he says goodbye to the Royal Family and Minako. Yuuri accompanies them to the airport, and they take a moment before Yuri gets on the plane.

Yuuri says goodbye first, offering a large dinner he’d had made, and a wrapped bag holding a commissioned metal statue of Yuri’s cat and a bag of assorted candies Yuri’s grown to love in his time in Hasetsu. When he’s done, he offers a handshake to the teen and steps aside to give him and Viktor some privacy.

“Yura,” Viktor says.

“What?” Yuri asks, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve put a lot of work into your presentation skills and routine these last couple of weeks,” Viktor says, “and a lot into behaving yourself at the palace as well. I’m proud of you, on both counts. You’ve done well.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Yuri looks at the floor.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re my little cousin,” Viktor continues. “Not until you say it’s okay. You deserve to win on your own merit, and you have the talent to do so.”

His cousin grows red, digging his toe into the concrete of the hangar. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Thanks, I guess. I won't…” he looks at the bodyguards and staff nearby, then back at Viktor. “I won't tell people how fucking weird you guys are,” he mutters. “Or anything like that.”

He’s promising discretion on his part, and Viktor smiles. Thanks, understanding, pride… It’s all written on his face and Yuri nods once more.

Ruffling his hair, Viktor looks him in the eye. “Keep in touch, and tell Yakov he should visit if he’s in the country! I've missed being yelled at,” he sighs.

After a snort, Yuri looks at the plane, and back at Viktor. “Go have fun sleeping or whatever the fuck it is you old people do when you’re not annoying people.”

“I'll miss you, too,” Viktor says. His grin is wide but genuine, the fondness he has for Yuri tugging at his heartstrings. He’s proud, he really is, and he knows Yuri can tell. The teen looks him up and down before turning on his heel.

“See you,” he says, waving at Yuuri. “Thanks and shit.”

“You're welcome back any time,” Yuuri says, “just let me know.”

Waving once more, Yuri climbs the stairs and disappears into the plane. Yuuri comes to stand next to Viktor. “I'll miss him, sort of,” he says.

“Sort of?” Viktor asks.

“I have to admit, the quiet will be nice.”

Laughing, Viktor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “You're not wrong.”

 

When they arrive at the palace, the staff are running around in a flurry. Yuuri looks at a nearby footman. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“A few of the guests for the Coronation Ball have arrived, Your Majesty,” he says. “They’ll be shown to their quarters soon.”

“Do you know who it is?” Yuuri asks.

“No, Sire, I regret to say. My apologies.”

Yuuri thanks him before holding his arm out. “Shall we?”

Threading his arm through Yuuri’s, Viktor nods. They walk through the offices, turning down the hall with the guest apartments. They’re half-way down when a door opens and a woman walks out. Beside him, Yuuri stiffens, but otherwise doesn't change his demeanor.

“Poker face, Vitya,” he says.

It’s all the warning Viktor gets before Takeda follows the woman. His heart skips a beat or three, his hands go cold as he meets the man’s eyes. The Earl glances between Viktor and Yuuri, his grin forced and a bit too wide.

“Earl Takeda,” Yuuri says with the most saccharine tone he can manage, “a pleasure.” He looks downright happy to see him. It’s almost disturbingly convincing, even to Viktor, but there’s something in his eyes that’s almost predatory.

With a flourish, Takeda and the woman both bow deeply, before standing back.

“Your Royal _Majesty,”_ the Earl says, “it’s truly an honor to be invited to stay here in the Royal Palace for your Coronation celebration.”

Yuuri inclines his head and gestures at Viktor. “I’d like to introduce my partner, Mr. Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor, this is Takeda Masayoshi and his wife, Shiori. They’ll be attending the Coronation Ball as my guests.” Introducing Viktor like this directly implies that Yuuri has no idea they’ve met before, giving the Earl little reason to think otherwise.

With a practiced smile, Viktor gives a short bow. “It’s my pleasure,” he says with the most genial tone he can muster. It’s still hard to keep his hands from trembling as he shakes Takeda and his wife’s hands, especially with the threat playing on repeat in his head, but he’s managing and he sends silent thanks to Lilia for her strict training regarding his composure in public. Tension lies thick and heavy in the air, Viktor and Takeda both eyeing each other. Takeda is likely wondering if Viktor’s planning on heeding his warning and leaving Akitsushima and Yuuri, while Viktor wonders just what he has planned, what moves he might make in the week leading up to the ball.

“I hope your journey went well,” Yuuri says, “I know traffic near the capital can be almost infuriatingly slow at times.” He shifts his weight as Hana turns a corner down the hall, coming to face Viktor and Yuuri. Her eyes widen, barely, but she smiles when her mother comes up next to her, rolling a suitcase. Hana gestures in their direction and they head over.

“Travelling amongst the citizenry can be inconvenient,” Takeda replies with a tone that sounds more disgusted than anything else, “but we made it here just fine. Your staff has been superb while getting us settled in our quarters, and they were just going to escort us to tea with Her Royal Majesty. Will you be joining us, Sire?”

Shaking his head, Yuuri gives a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, we will be unable to join you, as Mr. Nikiforov and I have a meeting to attend.” Seemingly genuine disappointment bleeds into his words, his mannerisms, his expression, and it’s almost good enough to convince even Viktor.

Almost. The fire in his eyes says he’s livid, the set of his jaw makes it clear he has little desire to stay in Takeda’s presence and might be seriously considering ordering him away.

“That’s a shame,” Takeda says. “Will we see you at dinner? I was hoping to have the opportunity to speak with the _esteemed_ Mr. Nikiforov. I’ve heard many great things about him, and am excited to finally meet Russia’s Living Legend.”

The way Yuuri’s arm tenses under Viktor’s hand says he doesn’t want to go to dinner and likely doesn’t want to subject Viktor to the experience, but Hana, just coming up behind Takeda, nods almost imperceptibly. Seeing her, Yuuri smiles. “Of course,” he says to the Earl, “I look forward to our meal together. Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, “the Takeda family has long been one of the most staunch defenders of Akitsushima’s cultural heritage.” Atsuko, now standing right next to them, glances between Yuuri and the Earl, drawing their attention by accident.

“Good afternoon, Your Royal Majesty,” she says, bowing, “and you, Takeda-sama.” Looking back at Yuuri, she lowers her head. “Please forgive my intrusion, Sire. I used to work with Takeda-sama’s valet, and wish only to greet a former coworker. We’ll be sure not to disturb you any further.”

Yuuri dismisses her with a half-hearted wave, as if she’s barely worth his notice. Rare though it is, Viktor always feels the most uncomfortable seeing this side of Yuuri when he’s forced into such casual disregard for people he ought to consider below his station. Knowing Yuuri’s worked in the service industry and has a healthy respect for those that still do only makes it worse. Still, Yuuri manages to appear completely comfortable.

“Do stay out of the way, Sasaki,” Masayoshi says to his valet.

“Yes, my Lord,” he says, bowing, before walking away with Atsuko.

“Kataoka-san, are you scheduled to resume your normal duties as my personal guard today?” Yuuri asks Hana, still standing nearby.

“Yes, Sire,” Hana replies with a deep bow. “I was accompanying my mother to her quarters, and intend to return shortly after.”

“Very well.” Dismissing her, Yuuri nods. He hates it, Viktor knows. This forced distance from the woman who raised him, who he considers an older sister, grates on him like few other things, but Hana doesn't hold it against him. Knowing this doesn't make it any more pleasant for Yuuri, but it keeps him from feeling guilty about it. Subtly, Viktor squeezes his arm in support as Hana moves to stand with her mother, flashing Yuuri the barest smile. Yuuri pretends not to notice.

“Your Royal Majesty,” Minako says from behind them. When Yuuri turns, she curtsies. “I was just on my way to our meeting, Sire, I wanted to confirm your availability.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says with a nod. “Mr. Nikiforov and I will be only a moment. Thank you.” Minako bows at the neck, bows again to Takeda and his wife, and heads down the hall. Yuuri smiles at Takeda, then, simmering rage under a veneer of geniality as he gives a graceful nod in his direction. “I regret to say I must cut our chat short. I do look forward to dinner, and will see you tonight.”

Takeda and his wife bow. “I will see you tonight, Your Majesty,” Takeda says, before looking at Viktor with an unpleasantly wide grin. “And yourself, Mr. Nikiforov. Again, it’s been an honor to _finally_ meet you.”

“An honor indeed,” Viktor says, bowing slightly, before Yuuri leads him away.

 

Hana and Minako meet them in Yuuri’s private study a few minutes later, closing the door with wide eyes. Yuuri looks over.

“Is your mother familiar with Earl Takeda’s valet?” he asks Hana.

“Y-yes,” she says, “I asked her about it and they worked together before she formally entered the Royal Guard.”

“Do you think…” Yuuri trails off, biting his lip. “Do you… could she…”

“Your Majesty,” Hana says, “my family has loyally served yours for generations. If it pleases you, I may ask her to get information for us, if she can do so discreetly.”

“No,” Minako says. “We don't know how loyal he is to Takeda. I don't want Takeda finding out she was asking questions, he may resort to something drastic. For now, we focus on keeping His Majesty and Mr. Nikiforov safe.”

Yuuri moves to stand near the window. “So basically we just sit and wait.”

Sighing, Minako crosses her arms. “Yes. I'm sorry, I know it’s not what you want to hear but—”

“I want to _do something,”_ Yuuri bites, turning to face them. “I want to do something other than cool my heels and fucking _wait._ He threatened my _boyfriend.”_ Fists clenched at his sides, he’s tense. Nearly thrumming with fury, his eyes narrow. “This is direct action against me, against his _King,_ and I'm _not_ inclined to let it go for much longer!”

“We need to _tread carefully,”_ Minako says.

“I'm _tired_ of treading carefully!” Yuuri snaps.

“I know,” Hana says. “I know, and I wish we had a firmer plan of action but we don't. We _cannot_ afford to be reckless right now.” Walking over, she cups his cheek in her hand. “Yuuri-kun,” she whispers, “I know you're scared but this is how we stay safe.” The words flow off her tongue too easily, and it’s clear it’s something she’s spent a lot of time saying. She sounds almost like she’s reassuring a child, and Viktor imagines a much younger Yuuri, scared, missing his family in an unfamiliar country, hearing the same thing as he runs for his life. It's chilling.

She’s blocking Yuuri’s face from Viktor’s line of sight, but a sniffle tells him Yuuri’s crying. “I hate this,” Yuuri says. “I _hate_ this. I’m sick of feeling so _helpless.”_

Wrapping her arms around him, Hana pulls him close. He removes his crown, sets it to the side, and buries his face in her chest, grips the back of her uniform with white-knuckled fists as he sobs. Minako and Viktor share a glance. She, too, looks saddened, like this is a sight all too familiar to her and Viktor wonders how often it was that Yuuri cried like this. How often he was terrified and clinging to them for comfort and how it must feel for them knowing that despite the fact that he’s home, Yuuri’s still in an awful position and there is very little they can do.

Procuring a box of tissue from somewhere, Minako walks over and holds it up. “Here, Yuuri,” she says softly. Glancing over, Yuuri takes a tissue and blows his nose. He dabs gingerly at his eyes with another tissue, mindful of his contacts, and once he’s thrown them away he gravitates towards Viktor.

Kissing his hair, Viktor pulls him into his arms. Yuuri settles there, against him, with one hand over the necklace under Viktor’s shirt. Absently he traces the outline, his finger brushing Viktor’s chest as he moves over each of the six points. Sighing, Yuuri settles further into his embrace, weary but content.

“What do we _do?”_ he asks.

“For now,” Minako says, “we discuss dinner. You both need to continue to lure him into believing we don't know. Hana and I won't be permitted in the room with you, as we’re staff, so—”

“Wait,” Viktor says, “you both eat with us often as it is, why not now?”

“Vitya, there’s a difference between eating with staff in the private dining room when it’s just family and eating with staff in the formal dining room when your guest is a member of the nobility. Takeda would likely feel slighted being forced to eat with them.”

Viktor looks at his fiancé. “Eating with them at the table would be an insult?”

Yuuri nods. “Honestly, the only reason I haven’t gotten shit for eating with them before is they _raised_ me. Especially Hana, and she- she’s a guard.”

“I could stand in the room,” Hana says, “as I’m your personal guard,  but otherwise, Viktor, me being at the same table, eating with everyone is… sticky at best. Minako would be a bit easier, but Takeda’s very traditional, very much old money and for him, being asked to eat with a commoner like that would be tantamount to insult, yes.”

 _“I’m_ a commoner,” Viktor says.

“You are,” Minako replies, “and we all know how he feels about _you._ He can’t publicly take it as an insult like he could eating with _us,_ as you’re the King’s significant other and his potential future King-Consort, but he’s likely not thrilled with the prospect.”

“This is bullshit,” Yuuri mutters. “Many of the people I love are common. If I don’t have a problem with it, he shouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Minako says as she takes a seat in a nearby armchair. “As far as the nobility is concerned, you should be more insulted by the prospect than they are. They can't stand the thought of a commoner being their equal in any way."

“I know,” Yuuri snaps, “but he’s an asshole.”

“Yes he is,” Minako agrees.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I’ll be alright eating with him.”

Yuuri looks over, sadness etched into his face. “I don’t want to force you, Vitya, if you need to say you’re sick or something I’ll cover for you.”

Minako sighs, massaging her forehead. “Yuuri, that’s not going to work. He’s seen Viktor today, and as it’s his first night here, you’re both obligated to eat with him if at all possible. He’s your _guest,_ Yuuri, and you need to treat him as such. Both of you do. He cannot suspect Viktor has said anything, and any sort of avoidance will push him towards that conclusion. You already turned down tea, turning down a meal without good reason is only going to make things worse.”

Making a disgruntled noise, Yuuri shifts to look at Viktor. “How are you doing, though?” he asks. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Viktor takes a shaky breath. “No,” he answers with rare honesty, “but I’m sure I can cover it up if I’m not. I’ve done it before.”

Giving him a curious look, Yuuri sits back just a bit. “You’re sure, Vitya? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“How often do you just cover your discomfort?” Viktor asks.

“A lot,” Yuuri answers, staring at his feet. “But it’s expected of me, I’m King.”

“And I’m going to be King-Consort,” Viktor says. Glancing at Minako and Hana, he tacks on “if we decide to get married. Of course.”

“Viktor,” Hana says, much like an older sister, “neither Minako nor I are completely oblivious. I’m just saying. Though it would help to… be more cognizant of your words in the future. Other company may not have the same discretion.”

Viktor nods, chagrined. “Regardless,” he says, “this will also be… _is_ also expected of me, as your partner. I’m okay with this, Yuuri. It’s not like we’re just sitting by right now, we’re actively working towards figuring this out. Playing the game is part of that.”

“Indeed it is,” Minako agrees. “Lets go over what sort of small talk you ought to make, what you should avoid. He won’t be saying much of anything that’s not entirely socially acceptable, not in front of you, Yuuri, or your mother and sister. He’s trying to avoid suspicion just as much as we are, if not moreso. This is High Treason and he knows it.”

Looking down, Yuuri nods. “Let’s do this.”

 

~*~

 

Yuuri smiles a few yards away where he’s discussing something with Hana. Viktor pulls at the crisp jeans he’s wearing, making sure his button-up is tucked in and aligned well.

They’re in one of the ornamental sitting rooms, staged for ‘casual’ portraits of the Royal Family. In this case, the article that will be published shortly after the ball, a worldwide debut of their relationship as opposed to the relative privacy of high society events. He and Yuuri had been in here earlier, testing out poses and positions from a list they’d been given.

“This shoot is very casual. We need you to look like you do this all the time,” Minako had said. “We want people to get a feeling of domesticity, like they’re getting a glimpse into your private lives.”

So they’d taken the liberty of trying all of the poses requested and some that weren't. The rug in front of the fireplace is plush, wonderful for half-armed cuddles and lazy kissing, and the small amount of regret Viktor feels at not being able to utilize this knowledge during the shoot is dwarfed by the relief he feels that it's one more thing for him to share only with Yuuri. As it is, they’re both dressed relatively casually, in nice jeans,both in button-ups and a waistcoat. A silver circlet rests on Yuuri’s hair. Viktor wonders what it will feel like once he wears one himself.

Yuuri’s moving towards him now, the smile plastered across his face looking more nervous than anything else. Viktor grins as he approaches. “Everything ok, Velichestvo?”

Yuuri nods. “It is,” he says. “I’m good. The interview went well, so that’s… nice. This’ll be fine.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Viktor.

“Can I hug you here?”

Looking around, Yuuri takes in the feel of the room before nodding, sinking into Viktor’s arms once they’re held open. “Is it the cameras?” Viktor whispers. When Yuuri nods into his chest, he rubs his back. “It’ll be ok. Pretend they aren’t there!”

Yuuri pulls back long enough to give him an incredulous look before resting his cheek on Viktor’s shoulder. “That never works, Viktor,” he sighs. “I’ve tried.”

“Ah, but you’ve never had me with you! I’ve done tons of photo shoots, I can help you get in the right mindset.”

Looking up at him again, Yuuri’s face says he wants to trust Viktor, but the glance over his shoulder says he doesn’t know if he can. His other photoshoots so far have been related to the palace and his coronation. There have been photo ops and plenty of paparazzi for sure, but regardless, he’d been expected to keep the royal stoicism required in serious situations.

Now, he’s being asked to show his love for Viktor to the world. Viktor smiles. “Velichestvo,” he says softly.

Yuuri looks up. “Yes, Vitya?”

“Do you remember the rumors? The press and the articles saying it’s just a fling, saying that one of us is only with the other for title, or money, or just to have someone that important and pretty on his arm?”

“What do those have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you think it’s time to prove them wrong?”

Yuuri looks up, eyes wide. “Vitya…”

Viktor smiles. His hand cups Yuuri’s cheek as he meets his gaze. “What we have is real.”

“It is, Vityusha,” Yuuri says, barely above a whisper.

“It always has been, it always will be,” Viktor responds.

“Yes, Vitya, always.” Taking a deep breath, Yuuri leans against him once again. The photographer calls them over, and when Yuuri moves away his demeanor has changed. He’s still anxious, to be sure, but he’s more determined. The photographer starts them off easy, Viktor sitting up on the couch while Yuuri leans on him. The first shots are frustrating, Yuuri stiff and awkward against Viktor, but when they have a minute to themselves he whispers in his ear. He talks about how much he loves Yuuri, how much he adores Yuuri, how he intends to keep _every_ promise he ever made and then some. By the time the photographer is back at his tripod, Yuuri’s relaxed into the pose.

They move to the window, first side-by-side and then with Viktor’s arms wrapped around Yuuri. In front of the fireplace they share white grape juice in wine glasses, and they even get in a few dance poses Yuuri mutters probably won’t make it past the palace. Makkachin is brought in, a few pictures taken where they’re petting him, and then it’s time for them to head out.

The move outdoors brings with it new challenges, particularly in the form of the beaming sun and makeup artists trying to do touch-ups while they move. An attendant leads Makkachin on a leash, to make sure he doesn’t get into pictures they don’t want him in, and he entertains himself by sniffing at patches of grass. They reach the new location in short order, a slightly secluded area of the gardens with a small pond.

Koi fish swim around, brilliant golds and oranges, shimmering whites and blacks, all flashing in the clear water. Yuuri smiles as they sit on the bench together.

“I used to come here all the time,” he says. “I wanted to pet the fish.”

Viktor chuckles. “How did that work out?”

“I got soaked the first and last time I tried.”

“Is it a habit of yours to fall into royal water features?”

Yuuri’s stone-faced look of mild displeasure brings a smile to Viktor’s cheeks as he laughs. “May I kiss you, Velichestvo?” he asks softly.

Yuuri moves in, meeting Viktor’s lips halfway. Yuuri’s are soft, the subtle lip stain he’s wearing covered in a gloss that tastes faintly of vanilla, and it’s hard for Viktor not to let himself get lost. The scent of flowers drifts by on a breeze, leaves and branches rustling in its wake, and Viktor’s hand comes to rest on Yuuri’s hip when Yuuri shifts forward.

The photographer clears his throat. “Your Majesty?”

Yuuri looks over, blushing. “Yes, sorry, what is it?”

“If I could have you and Mr. Nikiforov stand under the tree now, Sire.” Yuuri nods, turning back towards Viktor with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “We’ll save the rest for later,” he whispers.

Viktor clears his throat and stands, holding his hand out. Yuuri allows himself to be pulled up, stabilizing himself with a hand on Viktor’s chest. After makeup does their necessary touch-ups, mostly to their lips, they pose near the tree. They’re later asked to sit on some rocks, Yuuri being handed a cut apple to feed to Viktor (who does his best not to turn it into anything, but can’t help a wiggle of his eyebrows) before they’re asked to artfully lean back on a blanket laid on the grass.

“We should have a picnic sometime,” Viktor says while the lighting technicians set up diffusers.

“Mmmm, that sounds good,” Yuuri agrees. “I used to do that with Mari a lot. We’d have a blanket and food brought out, our governesses would sit nearby on their own blanket to keep an eye out.”

“My moms used to take us to a nearby park during the summer,” Viktor says. “Mostly when Lyosha and I were children. We went some after Katya was born, but by then my career was taking off and I was living away from home.” Yuuri reaches out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Viktor smiles, giving a grateful squeeze in return.

The way the diffusers are set up, the light hits Yuuri in such a way that he seems to glow. He wears a peaceful smile, looking out across the grounds. It’s not long until the photographer is clicking away again, asking one or the other to tilt their head this way, move their hand, cross their ankles, uncross them this time, and Viktor settles into the familiar routine of a poseable doll. Yuuri seems to be holding things together well enough, and the small talk they make between location shifts seems to help. Yuuri typically has a story to tell with each stop; antics he got up to with Mari, antics he got up to alone, memories with one or both of his parents. Sometimes he talks about Vicchan, pointing out their favorite places to play together, or where they’d curl up under a tree.

The photographer also wants some pictures of them in the formal, ceremonial areas of the palace. The palace shoots down a request for pictures of Yuuri on the throne, citing the casual nature of the photo shoot, but it’s not long before they find themselves walking through the sunlit halls. As they head to one of the parlors, they can hear the photographer clicking away behind them, and neither are surprised when they’re asked to walk down the same hall with the photographer taking pictures from the front. Two times they end up repeating the journey, both with Makkachin walking between them, before they reach their destination. Another flurry of posing and re-posing takes place, culminating in them standing on a balcony overlooking the grounds.

Arms around each others’ waists, they stare at the horizon together. It’s not too long before they’re back inside, the photographer packing up his gear.

“Your Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov, you can expect the proofs within a week. I’ll also be submitting a set to the palace for their approval.”

Yuuri nods. “I appreciate your services, Yamamoto-san.”

Yamamoto gives a bow before shaking Yuuri’s hand. “An honor, Your Majesty. Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, holding his hand out. Viktor takes it and shakes.

“I look forward to seeing the finished prints,” he says.

“I hope they’re to your satisfaction.” With another bow, Yamamoto takes his leave.

 

“I'm excited to see the prints,” Yuuri says as they’re crawling into bed that night. The light in the sitting room is on, Hana doing some sort of puzzle while she keeps watch, but the heavy door blocks out the majority of the light, leaving the room almost pitch black.

“Me, too,” Viktor says, rolling towards Yuuri when the light’s turned off. Makkachin settles near their feet, curling up on the light blankets with a Huff.

Yuuri gravitates towards him, snuggling close enough for Viktor to kiss his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing Viktor.

“I love you, too.” The night is quiet, peaceful, and in Yuuri’s arms Viktor feels safe.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Some rain, some shine,**  
>  We'll make this a world for two._  
> -Styx, The Best of Times
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!
> 
> It's been wild, so I'm continuing on the once-per-month update schedule at the moment, but am anticipating having something out for Closets or ATAHT in two weeks!! Either Phichit and Yuuri in the months leading up to Yuuri taking the throne, or some of Yuuri's time in Russia will be posted, so I'm excited to get that out!!
> 
> Thanks again to Isis and Riki for their support, you guys are gems.
> 
> [A Passover Seder](https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-passover-pesach-seder/) is a dinner held during the week of Passover. [The Four Questions](https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-four-questions/) can be found here.


	13. All These Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coronation Ball, and new information comes to light while the stakes grow ever higher.
> 
>  
> 
> [Chapter art by Rikichie.](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/post/176412070117/we-call-everything-katsudon-rikichie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Ride by twenty one pilots.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsxH9YQ0Tjk)
> 
>  **Warning (spoiler):** someone gets drugged. (As always, if you need more detail for your comfort or safety, I'm happy to answer private messages on my [tumblr.)](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)

_“Battery Low.”_

The robotic voice in Viktor’s ear tells him his headphones are close to dying. They might last the rest of his run. They might not. He’s almost done as it is so he isn't too worried. Turning around to run towards the palace, Makkachin trotting along happily, he’s almost in sight of the back driveway when his headphones beep again.

_“Battery Low.”_

Sighing, Viktor comes to a stop, throwing his towel over his shoulder before taking out his earbuds and turning the headphones off. Makkachin sniffs around at his feet, nosing at a bench while Viktor drinks some water, and they take off again. Yuuri’s expecting some family in today, and Viktor still needs to take a shower before he has lunch with the Crown Prince and his wife and children. They shouldn’t be in for another half hour or so if his watch is correct which is why, when he sees a car come up the drive as he approaches the palace, he’s confused. He’s just turning to take a longer route in when he hears someone shout his name.

Looking over, he sees a woman in a nice dress standing next to the car, three teenagers next to her. She calls his name again, waving him over, and he glances down at himself. Sweaty and breathing hard, in tennis shoes, shorts, and a t-shirt, he’s in no state to be meeting anyone right now, but they’ve already seen him so there’s not much to be done. Getting closer, he recognizes the group as Yuuri’s aunt and cousins. Makka pulls at his leash when he notices the new people, Viktor having to wind it around his left hand to make sure Makka doesn't bolt.

They smile as he approaches and he does his best to smile in return, stopping to bow before walking the final few feet.

“Your Highnesses,” he says, “welcome. I apologize for my outfit; I was just finishing up my run.”

“It’s no problem,” Yuuri’s aunt says. Holding out her hand, she smiles. “I am Emi, wife of Crown Prince Isamu.” Viktor shakes her hand and turns to the teenagers.

The older two step forward, somewhere in their late teens, and the boy holds out his hand. “I am Prince Kaoru,” he says as he shakes Viktor’s hand. “This is my twin sister, Princess Kiyomi, and our younger sister, Princess Rie.” He gestures to the girl behind him, no older than thirteen or so.

As he greets the princesses, Viktor smiles. “It's a pleasure to meet you all,” he says cheerfully, “I'm Viktor Nikiforov. This is my dog, Makkachin.”

Rie snorts. “We know who you are.” Her brother elbows her. Sheepishly, she looks back up at Viktor. “I mean, because our mom’s a fan. She watches all of your shows.”

“Is she?”

Emi nods. “I am, Mr. Nikiforov. I happened to be in Bulgaria to see your record-breaking win at Junior Worlds in-person.”

“She watched you get chased a few months ago, too!” Rie chimes in.

“Rie!” Emi scolds, “Mr. Nikiforov likely doesn’t want to talk about that, it was a horrible situation and the press and the public were out of line.”

“It certainly wasn’t fun, but it’s alright,” Viktor says. “It’s nice to meet a fan, and His Majesty’s extended family. Has your husband made it yet?” he asks. Yuuri’d explained that they’d be arriving at different times, as his uncle would be travelling separately from Yuuri’s oldest cousin for safety concerns. If they take different vehicles, there’s far less risk of losing the first two people in line for the throne simultaneously. Far less risk of the monarchy becoming destabilized as Yuuri scrambles to finalize Mari as his heir, to train her and whoever comes after her to take the throne. As Yuuri’s done no travelling since he’s gotten home, Viktor’s not used to travel plans being made accounting for who needed to not die at the same time.

Smiling at him, Emi nods again. “He met His Royal Majesty inside before we got here, and they’re on their way to meet us now.” Behind her, attendants are carrying their luggage inside. They’ll be staying in the residential wing, the only guests allowed such an honor. Viktor’s family, as well, would have been, had there not been a disgusting amount of scheduling conflicts preventing their attendance. In all honesty, Viktor’s glad. With the current threat, he would be nervous having them here. Yuuri has said the ball for their engagement will be planned to allow Viktor’s family to come, which is something he's already looking forward to.

“May I ask,” Emi says after a moment, “when it was you found time to go on news shows and discuss history?”

Viktor blinks. “Sorry?”

“I was visiting Russia,” she explains cheerfully, “and I saw you on television discussing history of some sort. I imagine your career is quite time-consuming, so I was wondering how it worked with being a historian as well?”

“I don't remember this,” Viktor says, frowning for a moment before his eyes widen. “My twin brother is an archaeologist! You probably saw him. We’re identical, it’s an easy mistake to make,” he laughs.

“You’re a twin?” Kaoru asks. Viktor nods.

“Older or younger?” Kiyomi says.

“I’m younger,” Viktor answers. Looking at each other, the twins give a nod before looking back at him.

“Nice,” Kiyomi says.

Viktor grins. Pulling on Makkachin’s leash, he keeps his dog from wandering into the middle of the driveway as he looks back to Emi. “But yes, my brother is quite prominent in Russia’s archaeological community, so you probably saw an interview he was doing.”

“Your parents must be so proud,” Emi says, smiling. “My nephew’s spoken highly of you as well.”

“Okaa-san,” Rie says, “when are we going to meet him?”

“His Majesty should be out any minute,” Emi responds.

“I can leave you alone,” Viktor offers. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen His Majesty, you must be looking forward to catching up with him.”

Emi smiles. “You’re fine, Mr. Nikiforov. We are, after all, like family.”

“It’s not like they’re _married,”_ Rie says, “they’re just dating.”

“As Mr. Nikiforov has been making public appearances with your cousin for a while now, and is attending the ball as his suitor, we can at least assume they’re quite serious about each other,” Emi says. “Mr. Nikiforov may well become your King-Consort.” Looking up at Viktor, Rie nods, before her eyes are drawn towards the stairs.

She freezes, just as Viktor starts to hear footsteps on the stone staircase behind him. “Okaa-san,” she says quietly, “it’s the _King.”_ Suddenly subdued, the reverence with which Rie mentions her older cousin is surprising. By now, Viktor’s used to people being distant around Yuuri, but to see Yuuri’s own family suddenly standing at attention is unexpected, to say the least, and Viktor straightens his own posture as he turns.

Yuuri is walking down the stairs with his uncle, both dressed in traditional wear. Yuuri’s crown shimmers in the light, the sun reflecting cheerfully off the dark metal. His uncle’s circlet is a brighter silver, shining against salt-and-pepper hair. As they approach, Yuuri’s aunt and cousins bow. Viktor does as well, though it’s more of a cursory nod; a full bow from Viktor isn't required, unless they spend a significant amount of time apart.

“Emi-obasan,” Yuuri says, smiling, “it’s good to see you’ve all made it out alright! How was the train ride?”

“Excellent,” she replies as Yuuri takes her hand in both of his. She smiles again before gesturing at her children. “You remember your cousins?”

“I do,” Yuuri says. “Well, I remember Kaoru and Kiyomi.” Holding out his hand, he shakes each of theirs before looking at Rie. “You didn’t exist when I left,” he says, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Rie goes into a perfect curtsy, holding it for a second. “Princess Rie, Your Majesty. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” When he holds his hand out, she shakes it, smiling shyly.

Turning towards Viktor, Yuuri smiles. “Viktor, this is my uncle, Crown Prince Isamu. Isamu-ojisan, this is Viktor Nikiforov, my partner.”

Viktor bows, then takes Isamu’s outstretched hand and gives a firm shake. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Your Royal Highness,” he says. Currently Yuuri’s second-in-command, Isamu is not a man Viktor wants to upset at all. Yuuri’s promised before that he’s relatively easy-going but then, easy-going is indeed relative, Isamu is most definitely Royal, and Viktor is most definitely not. Not yet.

“Pleasure to meet you, too!” Isamu replies. His smile is wide and genuine, his eyes kind, and Viktor lets out a breath he didn't know he’d been holding. “My nephew has spoken highly of you,” he says, “and my wife is a huge figure skating fan.” Chuckling, he smiles at Emi.

“I didn’t know she watched figure skating,” Yuuri says, gravitating to stand near Viktor.

“Huge fan!” Isamu declares. “Who do you think it was bought you your skates way back when?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, looking at his aunt. “I didn’t know that. I remember those skates! They didn’t let me take them with me when I left, though. You’re really a fan?”

She smiles. “I am. I’ve kept up with figure skating for years, now. Do you still skate at all, Your Majesty?”

Grinning, Yuuri scratches the back of his head. “Some, yeah. As a hobby more than anything else.”

“We should go to the rink sometime,” Viktor says. “You can show your aunt and uncle how good you are.”

At this, Yuuri blushes and looks to the side. “Viktor…”

“That sounds splendid,” Emi says. “I’d love to see how well you skate, now!”

“Oba-san, it’s not that amazing.”

Viktor gives Yuuri a disbelieving look before he notices the Crown Prince staring at him, at which point he does his best to school his face into a neutral expression. Instead of saying anything, Isamu merely chuckles.

“Given Mr. Nikiforov’s reaction,” he says, “I suspect you’re pretty good.”

Looking at his uncle, Yuuri blushes more. “I’m… I can do some jumps. I’m not _bad,”_ he says, “I just—”

“Can skate Stammi Vicino and only scale the jumps down to triples,” Viktor finishes, looking at Yuuri’s aunt. Emi gasps.

 _“Stammi Vicino?”_ she asks. Viktor nods in response and she looks at her nephew. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, it would be our honor to visit a rink with you and Mr. Nikiforov.”

Still bright red, Yuuri looks over at Viktor before nodding at his aunt. “I’d like to skate with you all,” he says. “It sounds enjoyable. I'd probably need a lot of practice before I can get back up to triples, though, I don't have much time to skate nowadays. Maybe Viktor will show us a routine?”

Viktor nods. “Absolutely,” he says.

“Your Majesty,” an attendant says as he walks up, dipping into a bow before addressing Yuuri. “Lunch will be ready in about half an hour, in the private dining room.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, dismissing him. As the attendant walks back up the stairs, Yuuri turns towards his family. “Shall we head in? I’ll have tea brought while we wait for the food.”

“Splendid,” Emi says. “That sounds wonderful.”

Looking down at his clothes, Viktor knows he’s not dressed nicely enough for the upcoming lunch. Unless in the privacy of a bedroom, meals in the Palace tend to be formal affairs by almost anyone’s standards, even when they’re relatively casual. “Your Majesty,” he says, drawing Yuuri’s attention, “I should shower and change before lunch.”

Giving Viktor a once-over, Yuuri nods. “Of course, Viktor,” he says. “Would you like to meet us in the dining room when you’re done? We’ll wait for your arrival to start the meal.”

“That sounds perfect,” Viktor responds. Kissing Viktor’s lips, Yuuri smiles.

“I’ll see you then,” he says.

 

Mari is standing outside of the bedroom when Viktor arrives, smiling when she sees him. “I hear you met my uncle,” she says.

“I did. Nice man,” Viktor replies. “Do you need something?”

“I was going to offer to help pick your outfit for lunch, if you wanted me to.” She smiles. “If you feel like you've got it, that’s fine, too.”

Viktor is fairly confident the suit he has in mind is good enough, and at some point he’ll need to be able to do this without help, but at the same time he usually has his outfits coordinated for him for anything more formal than a family meal. While this is, technically, a family meal, it’s also his first time dining with the Crown Prince, and he doesn't want to ruin the seemingly good impression he’s made on Yuuri’s family. Looking at the Princess, he makes his proposal.

“How about I pick it out and you tell me if it’s good?” He’s gone over various dress codes with Minako, and now’s the time to see what he's learned.

“I can do that,” she replies.

When he presents his outfit choice, a grey and blue three-piece suit, he’s happy to see Mari nod with a smile. “Perfect,” she says.

Viktor grins. “Thank you. I have a question, though.”

“What is it?”

“What should I be expecting, in terms of formality?”

Pausing for a moment, Mari shrugs. “It depends on what Yuuri wants. I imagine it'll be semi-formal. Titles are… I'd use titles to start. When they’ve visited before it’s been pretty casual, but they don’t know Yuuri well at all, and he’s king. They’re obligated to defer to him, and likely will unless he very explicitly tells him to treat them as his equal, which… He can’t just go doing that all the time and he knows it, it's _weird.”_

“Does he ever feel strange about stuff like that?” Viktor asks.

“I can’t see why he would,” Mari says. “Our uncle has never _not_ deferred to him, though it looks different when you're a kid. Before Yuuri left he had the title and deference, but no real authority. Especially not over family. Now, though… Viktor, he expects this. You realize that by now, right? He was raised a _prince.”_

“He wasn’t deferred to abroad, though,” Viktor says, “except by two people. Everyone else treated him normally.”

Brow furrowed in thought, Mari stares at the floor for a moment before looking up at him. “Think of it this way,” she says. “Yuuri was deferred to constantly, for his entire life, by every person he interacted with who _knew who he was,_ with only one exception in the last few years. Now, _everyone_ knows who he is, and because of that, everyone defers to him. Being treated as an equal was a byproduct of him having to hide, part of keeping his cover as far as I understand it.” She shrugs again. “He hasn’t talked to me about it much, but I honestly don’t see how he’d feel weird at all.”

“It’s with family,” Viktor blurts. He can’t stop thinking about Rie, about the change in her demeanor when she met her older cousin. Instead of a hug, she’d been greeted with a handshake. Isamu and Emi as well. Viktor’s aunts and uncles have always treated him and his siblings like their own children, with all of the scolding and discipline that comes with it. All of the love and affection too, and to see this forced distance when it’s been fifteen years since Yuuri’s had the chance to see his family, to be with them, is making Viktor more uncomfortable than he’d expected.

“What does it matter that it’s with family?” Mari asks. “My uncle deferring to Yuuri doesn’t mean he doesn’t still think of him as his nephew. Me deferring to him doesn’t mean he’s not still my dorky kid brother. My mom defers to him and if you think she wouldn’t drag him into a private room to scold him in an instant you’re wrong.”

Viktor sighs, nodding. “It’s an adjustment, still,” he says. “This… all of this is nothing like how I grew up.” As he gestures in a vague circle, Mari looks around.

Mari looks at him sympathetically. “Are you struggling that much?”

Shrugging, Viktor runs his fingers through his hair. “I wouldn't call it ‘struggling,’” he replies. “Most everything is fine beyond… You know, with what's _going on._ I just… He hasn't seen them in so long, had never met Princess Rie, but it was still so _formal.”_

“That’s the nature of being royalty,” Mari sighs. “It’ll be more casual in private, even if we're using titles. I know titles likely don’t _feel_ casual to you, but… Yuuri will probably be able to explain things better than I would,” she says. “He’s never actually _been_ a commoner, but he lived amongst them enough to get it more than I do.”

Nodding as he checks his watch, Viktor sighs. “I ought to shower,” he says. “Lunch is in twenty minutes and I don’t want to make a bad impression on your aunt and uncle. Especially not your uncle.”

“You don't have to worry about my uncle,” she chuckles. “My family knows you weren't raised royal, they won't get upset if you aren’t perfect.”

“I'm going to have to learn,” Viktor says.

“And you _are,”_ she responds. “You're doing well, Viktor. Believe me, if Minako thought you weren't doing fine you’d know. Let yourself worry less when it's just family, events are going to cause enough stress. You'll fall into the habits. You already have, some.” She’s right, he realizes. He’s pretty well adapted to having staff, getting much better at not needing cues to know how to address people in any given situation. He hasn’t slipped up with titles in over a month, now, hasn’t found himself put off by the formality of his daily interactions with the Royal Family in weeks before today. Never had he thought he’d be settling into a life like this, but slowly, it’s becoming more comfortable.

Nodding, Viktor gives her a wry smile. “You know, you _can_ call me Vitya, Mari.”

At this, she laughs. “It's not a boyfriend thing?”

Viktor shakes his head. “More like a nickname. My family calls me Vitya, my coach, Lilia… Full first names are just weirdly formal with people you're close to.”

Reaching up, Mari ruffles his hair. “Alright. Best for me to get used to it, yeah?” she asks, laughing.

Freezing, Viktor’s not entirely sure how to answer. There’s no way she knows about the engagement, Minako and Hana wouldn't say anything without telling them, but she sounds sure of herself. Seeing his hesitation, she smiles. “It’s obvious how much you two love each other,” she says gently, “how serious you both are about this. You're good for each other, Vitya. I'm glad my brother found you.”

Bright red, Viktor nods. “Thank you.”

Clapping him on the back, Mari turns to leave. “I'll see you in a bit, yeah?”

At Viktor’s confirmation, she heads out, and he goes to shower.

 

Having handed Makkachin off for his weekly bath, Viktor makes his way to the dining room alone. Barely on time, he's not surprised when he opens the door to see Yuuri seated at the table with his family. After toeing off his shoes, he bows briefly in Yuuri’s direction, before making his way over to be seated next to him.

“Hey, Vitya,” Yuuri says before pecking him on the cheek. Raising his eyebrows, Viktor glances at the rest of Yuuri’s family. All eyes are already on Yuuri when he turns to address everyone. “I'd like to dispense with the formalities right now,” he says, “if everyone is amenable.”

Though it sounds like he’s asking permission, he's not, and everyone concedes with a nod. Viktor glances at the rest of Yuuri’s family. They don't know him, so it’s unlikely he’s actually supposed to call them by name, but Mari’d said titles can be casual enough if you do it right, and in his interactions with Yuuri and the people he’s close to it’s evident that’s the case. He looks at Yuuri. For them, dispensing with formality means _all_ formality, all pretense. It means back to how they were in Detroit, when it was just Yuuri and Viktor and Makkachin and life was so much more laid back.

Nostalgia pulls at his heart.

“But what about Viktor?” Rie asks. “Isn't he common?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, looking at her. “He’s also my partner, has been living here for months, and is family as far as my mother, sister, and I are concerned. He’s considered just as much a member of the general public as any of us are.”

“Apologies,” the girl says with a graceful nod.

“Rie-chan,” Mari says, “you’ll get used to it. I did.” Viktor raises an eyebrow in her direction. It hadn’t seemed like a problem with Viktor, but she’d definitely taken a bit to warm up to Hana calling Yuuri by name too. Of course, she’d had warning that Viktor’d be showing up and might have prepared for it. Either way, Viktor smiles at Yuuri’s family, giving another deep nod.

Food is brought, soup and rice served individually while an assortment of traditional dishes are laid out in the center of the table. Far more effort has been put into this meal, the normally-perfect presentation now artfully decorated as well. Long lacquered chopsticks are placed around the table to be used for serving out of the communal dishes. They’re left alone after a well-dressed attendant serves tea, kneeling at each place as they pour, before bowing low and leaving the room. No one seems to bat an eye at this, instead following suit as Yuuri starts to serve up.

“Yuuri-sama,” Isamu says, “it must be nice to be home, finally. Most of what we’ve talked about has been politics. How are you adjusting?”

“I'm doing well,” Yuuri replies. “It was disorienting at first, but it’s nice not having to hide. I've been getting to know my mom and Mari again, too. Showing Viktor the grounds, where I grew up and such. I couldn’t be honest with Vitya for the entire time I knew him, and that sucked, but… we talked stuff out, and we’ve been adjusting together. Most of it has been getting used to people knowing who I am and just… being _home_ after so long.”

Emi nods. “It must have been _quite_ the adjustment.”

“It was,” Yuuri says, “but I’m doing well.”

“And you, Viktor?” Emi turns to him with a kind smile. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright,” he says. “I’m settling in nicely, here. Yuuri, Mari, and Hiroko-san have been wonderful with regards to helping me out, and Minako-sensei’s instruction has proved invaluable.”

“‘Settling in nicely? So the palace is starting to feel more like a home to you?” she asks.

Viktor nods. “It is,” he says and he doesn’t miss the way Yuuri’s gaze snaps towards him. Doesn’t miss the press of Yuuri’s leg against his own, or the hand wrapping around his before Yuuri leans over and kisses him.

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says. It's easy to hear the relief in his voice, mixed with a tentative hope that has Viktor wondering if Yuuri fully believes him. Viktor responds by squeezing Yuuri’s fingers. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but at this point the palace is almost as good as his apartment in Detroit, the thought of it more comfortable than the loneliness of his apartment in St. Petersburg. He’s starting, if barely, to feel at home here.

“Were you excited to see the Palace?” Kaoru asks. “Had you seen many before?”

“Kaoru,” Yuuri says, “he didn't know I was royalty. He didn't know we were going to be here until we landed and by then there was no time to get excited.”

“To be fair, Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I’d been planning on doing some sightseeing and the Palace had been on the list of places I was going to visit! So, I _had_ been looking forward to it some, but didn't expect it to be quite so soon!”

Yuuri raises one eyebrow. “I suppose next you’re going to say you hadn’t quite expected to be moving in, either?”

“Not even a little!” Smiling, Viktor moves his hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek. He knows their arrival is still a sore spot for Yuuri, the fact that Viktor had found out so abruptly something that still grates on him on occasion, but time has dulled the edges of the memory, made it more palatable. After a peck on Yuuri’s lips, he smiles, “but I’m glad I did, Yuuri.”

Meeting Viktor’s eyes, Yuuri gives him a grateful, relief-filled smile of his own. Viktor looks back at Kaoru. “I’ve been to several palaces, Your Highness, but most of them were museums, and all of them were with tour guides. I've been to the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg a few times.”

“Yuuri-sama,” Kiyomi says, “I apologize if this is overstepping my bounds, but I was… wondering if Viktor often calls you by name. Without an honorific of any sort.” Yuuri’s entire extended family has been affording him the honorific with the highest respect even in a private setting such as this. After months of private lunches and dinners with Hiroko, Minako, Hana, and Mari, Viktor’s still used to the older adults in Yuuri’s life treating him somewhat casually in private. To see this, and especially to see Yuuri’s lack of protest is telling of just how close he is to Hana and Minako. To Viktor, as well, if Viktor is being permitted to address Yuuri without any honorific at all while the Crown Prince is still expected to defer to his nephew.

“He does,” Yuuri replies after a moment to choose his words. “As we met while I was hiding, he was used to treating me as his equal and calling me by name well before he knew me as King. I had no desire to change this and insist my significant other suddenly treat me as their better at all times. Much like all of you, Vitya defers to me when it’s appropriate, as you saw earlier.” Though gentle, he’s reprimanding her. As far as court is concerned, it isn’t her place to question him, and Yuuri has to at least act as such. Whether or not he actually _feels_ that way it’s impossible to tell, but seeing how Yuuri’d talked about losing his patience with Takeda’s disrespect, Viktor’s willing to bet the answer is he does on some level. He looks first to Yuuri, kneeling at his place with impeccable posture, seemingly perfectly at ease with the authority he commands, and then to Kiyomi, now lowering her head.

“My apologies, Yuuri-sama,” she says, looking down at her plate.

Gently, Yuuri smiles at her. “For the most part,” he says, “I don’t mind answering questions about my time abroad. There are things I’d rather not discuss, but I can let you know as they come up.”

“Can I ask Viktor something?” Rie says.

Yuuri nods, gesturing permission.

Looking at Viktor, Rie asks, “why did you want to be Yuuri-sama’s boyfriend if you thought he was common?”

Kaoru looks at his little sister. “Do you _think_ before you let words come out of your mouth? At all? They obviously fell in love somehow.”

“It’s true,” Viktor says dramatically. “When I went to the café, Yuuri made me a latte that had a picture of my dog on it! Hand-drawn! The coffee was delicious too and I’ve been head over heels ever since.”

Blushing, Yuuri’s picking at his food, but when he looks up his entire extended family is looking at him. Drawing himself to his full height, or as much as he can, and meets each person’s eyes. “Yes,” he says to his cousins. “I worked at a café.”

“I thought that was just a rumor,” Kiyomi says, picking up her rice bowl.

“Nope.”

“Why would you do that?” Rie asks.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Yuuri responds. In unison, his cousins all look at him, and then down at their plates. Yuuri sighs. “It wasn’t as bad as you guys think it was,” he says. “It was fun! I learned how to make coffee and some food, and I met all sorts of people. Vitya included.”

“You should show your family your latte art,” Viktor says, “I’m sure they’d love to see it.” Agreeing, Yuuri nods enthusiastically.

Kaoru looks over, biting his lip. “Yuuri-sama, is there… Have there been any practical benefits to you working as a commoner?” he asks. It’s a fancy way of asking what the point was, but acknowledges the fact that Yuuri may have had his reasons beyond just “getting a job.”

Nodding in response, Yuuri sets his chopsticks down on their stand. “Yes. It gave me insight into how commoners live, work, and view the world, and a greater appreciation for what life is like outside of the palace. I feel it’s given me a depth of understanding that will serve me well as King, as I do my utmost to serve my people. We should strive to understand the people who will be affected by the laws we pass, by the decisions we make, and to make these decisions in the best interests for _everyone_ rather than a select few.”

It’s strangely formal considering the tone of the conversation so far, but Yuuri has a point to make. Kaoru nods. Even when Mari becomes Crown Princess, he’ll still be third in line for the throne unless Mari or Yuuri and Viktor have children. This information is relevant to him, Yuuri’s way of guiding someone who has the potential to take the throne. Is this how his father answered his questions as a child? With a reminder that there was a duty to be done to their people? Looking at his fiancé, Viktor can see now more than ever the differences between Yuuri’s commoner facade and Yuuri’s royal demeanor, despite how much they’re starting to meld together.

“Viktor,” Emi says, “how are you feeling about the ball? It's your first formal event, right?”

When Viktor looks up, Yuuri’s entire family is staring at him. Yuuri moves to say something, but Viktor takes his hand to stop him. “It’s my first formal event in this capacity,” he says, “though I’ve attended many in my years working with Madame Baranovskaya, some of which were white-tie. Minako-sensei has been diligent in filling in the gaps in my knowledge.”

“But how do you _feel_ about it?” Emi asks.

He looks at Yuuri. Yuuri gestures with raised eyebrows, suggesting Viktor can say what he wants, so Viktor nods and smiles at everyone. “I feel prepared. Confident. A bit nervous, but that happens with any sort of event or performance.” Laughing it off, it takes some effort to keep his smile on his face. His nerves are terrible. It’s not the party itself that’s getting to him, though, it’s who he’ll be attending with. It's a pressure to perform unlike any Viktor’s felt. The literal weight of a nation and Viktor's own future rests on his ability to impress people who only bother to treat him as their equal because he's dating their King.

The familiar press of Yuuri’s leg against his own is comforting, a welcome reminder that he’s not entirely alone in this. Yuuri knows, somehow, how bad Viktor’s nerves get, and he knows the full scope of what rides on this ball. Viktor smiles at Emi. “I have confidence that everything will go just fine,” he lies. “I'm excited to join Yuuri in celebrating.”

Emi grins. “Superb, I'm happy to hear things are going well! We’re excited to finally be able to visit, now that the kids are out of school and everything has died down some. And to meet you as well.”

“Only because you're a fan, Oba-san,” Mari chuckles.

“I was excited to meet Yuuri-sama’s boyfriend _before_ I knew he was Viktor, thank you.” She looks over at Yuuri. “Before you got home, we had no idea, you know. I almost didn't believe the rumors until I saw the pictures of you both in the airport and with the Royal Guard.”

When Yuuri purses his lips, Viktor sighs. “I did what I could to lessen the number of photos taken,” he says.

“Vitya what are you talking about?” Yuuri asks. “I was assuming I was being photographed from the moment I got off the plane,” he says. “If I hadn’t made it before my father passed, I would have been. You haven't caused any problems, Vitya.”

“Hasn't he had to be taught everything though?” Rie asks.

Yuuri smiles at him, then his family, taking his cousin’s question in stride. “We’ve _both_ taken some time to adapt to life here. Vitya’s taken everything well, all things considered, and is getting used to stuff. I'm getting used to being home and am reacclimating to Royal life.”

“But didn't you grow up like this?” she asks. “I thought you lived here, first.”

“Rie,” Emi warns.

Yuuri glances at his aunt and sighs. “Rie-chan, from when I was eight I lived in a really small house with no staff and one bodyguard. And then I got an even smaller apartment. And had a roommate.”

“Phichit Chulanont, yes?” Emi asks.

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, Phichit and I are best friends! He found out I was the Crown Prince a little while into living with me, but he was really chill about it. But my point is,” he says, “I always knew the Palace was home, I always _thought of it_ as home, but it’s… Ok you know how when you go stay at the summer palace for a few months, when you go home it’s a bit weird for a few days? Not like you don’t remember being there, but that you’re used to being somewhere else and it takes a day or two to get back into the swing of things?”

“Uh huh,” Rie responds, shoving a piece of broccoli in her mouth.

“It was like that for me, but instead of a few months gone it was fifteen years. Your big brother and sister were only two years old when I left, right?” He looks at his aunt and uncle for confirmation as they nod. “So they were two when I left. It’s been that long since I’ve been home, and when I was gone I lived like a commoner. It’s taken some adjusting to get used to being back here, in a huge, fancy palace with staff and people knowing who I was.”

“It seems like it’d be nice to finally have people knowing though,” Kiyomi says, “wouldn’t it?”

Yuuri sighs. “Yes. It… it’s relieving, to be honest, but I spent fifteen years trying to make sure no one found out, because someone might kill me if they did. Something like that… It’s not easily forgotten, I can’t just brush all of that aside because I’m home now. So, yes, it’s nice, but still weird sometimes.”

Viktor knows it’s been more than ‘still weird’ at times. He’s been there when Yuuri’s woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, delirious and convinced that his secret had gotten out, that he was running from someone, that he’d just escaped an assassin or that he was going to have to run again and lose everything because _someone found out_ and it was _his fault._ At the beginning, especially, it had taken Yuuri a while to settle back into being himself without pretense. It had taken weeks for him to stop being jumpy when people called him by his title on the rare occasion he zoned out, especially in public. It’s only been days since the last nightmare, and while they’re relatively infrequent now, they still aren’t surprising. As far as Viktor knows, the only other person (besides Phichit) who knows about the nightmares is Yuuri’s therapist, and that suspicion grows stronger with the lack of reaction from Mari and Hiroko.

“So are you two planning on getting married?” Emi’s question pulls their attention. Yuuri smiles gently and takes Viktor’s hand.

“We’re hopeful,” he says. “For now, I want to give Viktor time to get used to being here, living this life, and to figure things out, and as chaotic as it’s been with my accession to the throne, we haven’t had time to discuss it in full.” He lies easily, and he lies _well._ It’s one of the things Viktor’s noticed frequently, how even Yuuri’s own family has trouble seeing even his more blatant lies unless they already know the truth. It’s startlingly easy for Viktor to tell, now. Many of the things Yuuri does when he lies, the slight hesitation or the way he smiles with just a bit more plasticity to his face, the way he fiddles with the hem of his shirt or rubs the scar on his arm… These are all things Viktor had thought were just part of his personality when they lived in Detroit.

Which, honestly, is telling.

Regardless, Viktor’s having a much easier time picking out Yuuri’s truth from the half-truths he weaves now that he’s seen Yuuri when he’s truly honest. Knowing this isn't enough to stop the nagging voice that sometimes whispers in the back of his mind that there's no real guarantee. No way to be sure how much of any given statement can be taken at face value.

Yuuri has promised honesty. Yuuri has been enthusiastically open with him since they got here. He trusts Yuuri, he reminds himself. Yuuri’s never given him a reason _not_ to. His hand is squeezed, Yuuri kisses his cheek and frowns at him. Closing his eyes, Viktor sighs and kisses him. Pressing his leg more firmly against his fiancé’s, Viktor goes back to eating as the conversation returns to the ball.

 

~*~

 

The late-morning sun is shining through the floor-length windows in the pool house when they get there. Yuuri’s cousins are already in the pool, splashing around and having fun, but when they hear the door close everything stops. Kaoru starts lifting himself out of the pool for some reason before Yuuri waves him off.

“No need for formality,” he says. His cousins nod gratefully, watching with rapt attention as he takes off his glasses, bathrobe, and sandals, adjusting the blue swim trunks he’s wearing before he makes his way to the other end of the pool. Viktor takes off his own robe, laying it over the back of the chaise lounge Yuuri piled his things on. Yuuri climbs onto the diving board with ease, grinning at his cousins before bracing himself, running the length of it, and taking a flying leap to cannonball into the deep end. His cousins look relieved. Surprised, too, but overall relieved. Yuuri technically has every right to insist on propriety, but they’re family, close in age, and he just wants to enjoy his time with them.

Climbing the diving board, Viktor makes his way about half-way down as Yuuri swims to the side. Grinning in the shimmering water, he looks happy. He’s enjoying himself already, and something in Viktor’s chest loosens and warms him, filling him with almost overwhelming love as he sighs happily. After a moment, he takes a step back before running the last few steps and taking a flying leap, moving into a dive with grace.

The water is cool when he plunges into it, and he swims the last few feet to the bottom to touch it, before righting himself and pushing off of the pool bottom with his legs. When he breaches the surface, he sees Yuuri slowly making his way to the underwater ledge in the shallow end, where his cousins are sitting. They’re still watching him, though it’s not as wary as before.

“Yuuri-sama?” Rie asks as Viktor approaches.

“What is it?” Yuuri replies, folding his legs under him.

“Did you eat McDonald's for dinner all the time when you were in America?”

Yuuri laughs and shakes his head. “I’ve never had McDonald’s, the Palace was incredibly strict about my food choices and by the time I could have tried to persuade them to allow it, I didn’t have the stomach for fast food.”

“You’ve never had fast food?” Viktor asks. He’s never particularly been a fan, but he’s hard-pressed to think of anyone in his life who hasn’t, at one point, had fast food.

“Nope,” Yuuri answers. “Take-out was the closest I got as far as meals are concerned, and that was all healthier options from full-service restaurants.”

“Did you have a chef?” Kiyomi asks. “Did you learn how to cook?”

“We didn’t have a chef,” Yuuri responds, “but I didn’t learn how to cook much either. Hana-san, my bodyguard, did most of the cooking and by the time I moved out I knew how to order takeout and get easy-to-make stuff at the grocery store.”

Kaoru glances over at this. “Wait,” he says, “what are grocery stores like?”

“Big,” Yuuri says. “There are so many options!! I remember when Hana-san and I got to America she had to get us food and took me to one for the first time. I almost got lost staring at everything. I also grabbed fruit and just sort of ate it, I didn’t realize you had to pay for it first.” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I figured it out pretty quickly after that. I was scared of them for the longest time, but I got used to them after a bit.” It had never occurred to Viktor that Yuuri would remember his first trip to a store. Such a normal part of everyday life, but for Yuuri it was once a completely foreign, apparently terrifying experience.

Making his way over the last few feet that separate him and Yuuri, Viktor sits on the ledge next to him. “What else did you have to get used to?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri looks at him. “Practically everything. My clothes were scratchy and off-the-rack, and I was used to the traditional stuff we wear here, I’d never been on a plane with anyone but my family and our staff, had never been called by my first name by anyone other than family, not that I was using my actual name at the time so I had to get used to that, too. Our house was too small and plain, everyone treated me weird- well, normally but it was weird until I got used to it, and—”

“You got used to being treated like that? Like it doesn’t make you feel weird anymore?” Kiyomi asks.

Sighing, Yuuri looks over. “Not anymore. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t have a problem with acting normal with people and being treated normally by them, until I moved back.”

“What changed?” Viktor asks. It doesn’t seem like Yuuri minds it even now, but the way he’s talking says otherwise.

Looking at him, Yuuri purses his lips before answering. “In my position,” he says slowly, “propriety and treating me like a monarch are expected. It’s a sign of respect. So, when people just act casually with me without my permission, they’re saying they don’t respect me or my position. So I don’t… If I give someone permission, I feel fine even if they’re really casual. But until that point, it’s really uncomfortable and pretty insulting.” Grimacing, he sinks into the water a bit. “That’s more because of the implied meaning rather than the familiarity itself. Which is why it wasn’t an issue when I was gone. When people don’t know you have a title, there’s no disrespect in them not using it. Since I’ve been home, though, _everyone_ knows. You know?” His cousins nod.

So Mari was almost right, but not entirely. As his cousins keep asking questions, it becomes more clear that the line Yuuri straddles between common and royal is unlike anything they’ve experienced before. Yuuri’s done his own clothing shopping, handled applying for an apartment, setting up and maintaining his own schedule, gone to school with people his age and had a job, and much of that has led to him being far more laid back, self-sufficient, and in touch with the general population in many ways. In others, though, it’s clear that he’s never going to really understand. He moved a lot when he was gone, yes, but never had to worry about how he was going to afford it. He had classmates and friends, but had never understood what it was like to truly have peers. He’d done his own grocery shopping, but is still absolutely terrible when he has to estimate prices. “I never paid attention,” he explains, doing his best to pout as Viktor tugs at his cheek.

“How much is a banana?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri sticks his tongue out. “Not ten dollars, I know that much. Like, three? Four? If that? We had them for a dollar at the café, though, I don’t know how good that was.”

“That's about average, actually,” Viktor replies, smiling at Yuuri’s blush. “What about popcorn at a movie theater?”

“Vitya I have no idea, I've never had movie theater popcorn, I wasn't allowed,” he says, rubbing the scar on his arm.

He’s lying. Viktor files this away to ask about later.  

The questioning segues into Yuuri telling stories of his time abroad. All three of his cousins laugh when he talks about a time he and Phichit had accidentally stolen someone’s dog— a puppy had crawled into Yuuri’s messenger bag and fallen asleep, and by the time it was wiggling enough for him to notice he and Phichit were halfway home. The adventure had ended with them frantically running back to the park holding the pup until they tracked down its equally frantic owner. More stories are told, the other most memorable about the time Yuuri’d capsized a canoe trying to see what animal had been sitting on the shores of the lake he’d been on, only for Phichit to roll his eyes when they’d finally made it to the shore and found out the alleged animal was, in fact, an interesting shrub and some driftwood.

“Have you ever been to a mall?” Kiyomi is draped over a pool noodle as she floats, looking inquisitively at her cousin.

Viktor grins. “We spent three hours trying to find each other in one,” he says. Everyone looks at him, Yuuri with slightly narrowed eyes. Viktor puts his arm around his fiancé. “It’s true,” he continues. “We split up because Yuuri needed to grab something for his computer and I needed to go to the bathroom, and by the time he was done at the electronics store I was wandering a different store looking for him, and then he went out to look for me, and then I kept trying to call him and he wouldn’t answer—”

“My phone was in the car, Vitya, I told you this,” Yuuri interrupts. “I walked all the way out to the parking lot to see if you were there, my phone was ringing on the seat, and I didn’t have the keys to get to it because I’d given them to _you_ to go put the new dog bed in the trunk.”

“Still,” Viktor continues, “I tried calling and got no response, so I kept wandering and found him standing near a kiosk with a pretzel in one hand and lemonade in the other, with all of his bags on one arm.”

“I was hungry,” Yuuri retorts. “Anyway, you _liked_ the pretzel you got so I don’t see why you’re complaining about it.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to pout. “Because I kept looking for you and you just stopped for a snack!”

“Provisions, Vitya. I needed provisions,” Yuuri replies. “My energy was flagging and it was food I was allowed to eat.”

“We were going out to _dinner_ afterward,” Viktor retorts.

“And I’d been wandering a mall carrying computer stuff and new clothes and whatnot,” Yuuri says. “Anyway, it’s not like we didn’t have a good time at dinner.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you stopped for food instead of coming to find your boyfriend.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to respond, but stops when the door is opened and an attendant walks in. “Your Majesty,” they say with a bow, “if I could beg a moment of your time.”

Standing, Yuuri moves a over to the far edge of the pool. “What is it?” he asks. Though he’s sopping wet, in swim trunks with his hair combed messily out of his face, he still has all the bearing of his station as he talks to the attendant in hushed tones. They leave shortly after, but Yuuri walks slowly across the shallow end with his head held high. Stopping in the middle, he seems lost in thought, like the interruption was an unpleasant reminder of current circumstances in the midst of such happy memories. There’s an awkward, tense silence as his family waits for him to be done doing whatever it is he’s doing, to say it’s ok to resume joking around, but he’s just staring absently at the water with his arms crossed.

As unobtrusively as he can, Viktor submerges himself, swimming underwater until he’s behind Yuuri. He surfaces quietly, keeping his breathing slow and steady, and barely has time to register the shock on Yuuri’s cousins’ faces as he takes a flying leap out of the water and tackles his fiancé. Underwater, the world narrows to just the two of them as Yuuri twists to face him, a smile spreading across his face before he grabs Viktor’s shoulders, pulls him close, and kisses him in silent thanks.

Pushing off, Yuuri resurfaces just before Viktor, and Viktor’s barely had time to stand up before he’s pushed under again by a grinning Yuuri. It’s likely Yuuri expects him to just come back up, but instead Viktor kicks off the side wall, wraps his arms around Yuuri from behind, and surfaces, pulling him to the edge of the pool.

“Vitya!” Yuuri laughs as he pretends to struggle, kicking his feet in front of him. “Vitya, what are you doing?”

“Getting you out of the pool, you pushed me, you’re mean.”

“You _tackled_ me!” Pushing against Viktor’s arms, Yuuri continues to try to get free.

Reaching the edge, Viktor sweeps Yuuri’s legs into one arm, lifting him up and putting him on the cool marble of the border. Rolling onto his side, Yuuri looks at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

In retaliation, Viktor grabs Yuuri around the sides, tickling him as he flails, until he rolls away. Getting smoothly to his feet, Yuuri sticks his tongue out at Viktor again before making his way to the diving board.

“We should play a game!” Rie says as Yuuri climbs up on the diving board.

“What were you thinking?” Yuuri asks.

Kaoru speaks up. “You have a volleyball set here, Yuuri-sama, I can ask an attendant to have someone set it up?”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “That sounds great, please do.”

“We have uneven teams, though,” Kiyomi says as her brother climbs out to find an attendant.

“Not anymore.” Mari’s voice comes from where she’s apparently been leaning against the railing of the balcony above, watching them. Viktor’d been too absorbed in what was going on to notice, but she looks like she’s been here a while, judging by the fond smile on her face.

Yuuri grins. “Excellent,” he says. “Mari, Kiyomi and I versus Kaoru, Rie, and Vitya.”

“That’s not fair!” Rie cries.

Yuuri gestures at Viktor with both hands. “Vitya’s a professional _athlete!_ Do you _really_ wanna switch teams?”

Glancing in Viktor’s direction, she smiles shyly when he waves and shakes her head. “No,” she says.

Running forward, Yuuri leaps into the air, legs pinwheeling for a moment before he plunges back into the pool. Viktor loses sight of him for a second, but soon enough, Yuuri pops up in front of him. Pulling Viktor close, he kisses him again before smirking.

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you, Vityusha.”

“Wouldn’t want you to, Lyubov,” Viktor replies.

 

After their shower that night, comfortable in a light robe and slippers, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri from behind, kissing his cheek as he looks across the grounds from their balcony. “So when _did_ you have movie theater popcorn?” he asks.

Stiffening for a moment, Yuuri lets out a breath. “How did you know?”

“I can tell when you’re lying.” Kissing his cheek again, Viktor holds him tighter.

There’s a long moment, Yuuri sighs again. “You can?”

Nodding against Yuuri’s cheek, Viktor rests his chin on his shoulder. “I couldn’t tell before,” he says, “but I can now. When you lie, you do some of the same things you did in Detroit, if we’re being honest.”

There’s a hitched breath. “Vitya, I—”

“No, Yuuri, you’re fine,” he says before his fiancé can apologize. “That wasn’t me being upset.”

Yuuri nods quickly, sinking further into Viktor’s arms.

“It helps, you know,” Viktor whispers. “I know when you’re being honest with me about things. That I'm not being kept in the dark.”

Turning in Viktor’s arms, Yuuri wraps his own around Viktor’s waist. “I never wanted to lie.”

“I know,” Viktor says. “You had to stay safe.”

“Keep you safe, too,” he says. “My location and identity was literally top secret. Not even my family knew. You finding out could have… ended badly. With everything that's going on, I'm even more sure of that.”

“I know,” Viktor says again, kissing Yuuri’s nose. “I’m not holding anything against you. It went as well as it could have, given the circumstances.”

“Given the circumstances,” he mutters. “I just hate they ended up like that to begin with. I should have accounted for that. Or something.”

“Don't you think it’s time to stop beating yourself up about this?” Pulling back, Yuuri looks up at him. Viktor continues. “We can't change it. You personally didn't do anything _wrong._ It’s not like you were keeping it from me for fun, and you wanted to tell me. Being forced to withhold information is different from _lying,_ Lyubov.”

After a deep inhale, Yuuri sighs. He nods, kisses Viktor, and rests his head on Viktor's chest. “I'll try,” he whispers.

“Please,” Viktor says. He redirects the conversation back to his original inquiry. “So, when was it you had movie theater popcorn?”

Yuuri snorts. “Uhh, the first time was couple of years ago. Phichit and I went to the theater. I wanted some, but I knew someone could be watching me and that’s on the Palace’s ‘Not Healthy, Do Not Eat’ list, so Phichit bought a large and I snuck off his. The rebellion tasted better than the popcorn, to be honest.”

“And you’ve had more since?”

“Shhhhh,” Yuuri whispers with a smile. “It’s a _secret.”_

“Of course,” Viktor murmurs. Sagging against him a bit, Yuuri sighs.

“Tomorrow’s going to be fun,” he says sarcastically. Viktor hums in vague agreement. First thing after breakfast is a final rehearsal with Minako, followed by what essentially amounts to a spa day. They’ll be groomed head to toe, their hair cut and styled, before they dress for the formal dinner for family and friends-slash-acquaintances-slash-people-it-would-be-rude-not-to-invite preceding the ball. After that is an outfit change if needed, and then the ball itself.

Their every movement has been rehearsed, from entrances and exits to how they handle their silverware and wine glasses at dinner. Their posture has been endlessly worked on, how they carry themselves, even how they hold their chins and position their hands, the angles of Viktor’s bows and the fluidity of Yuuri’s gestures. Much of what Viktor learned from Lilia has been refined to suit the Akitsushiman court, and Yuuri’s training has, according to him, been the strictest it’s been since he was a teen.

They’ve been relentlessly trained in security drills as well. Minako and Hana aren’t 100% certain Takeda isn’t going to try anything at or around the ball, and Hana’s been diligent about guarding them every night so far. Not once since she’s made the decision to stay in the small room off their sitting room have Viktor and Yuuri not woken up to find her at the table doing a word puzzle or reading a book on the couch. Always, she greets them with a smile, and they all feel the relief that they’ve made it through another night with no incident alongside the ramping up of their nerves waiting to see what will happen next.

Nuzzling into the crook of Viktor’s neck, Yuuri sighs again. “I don't want to go,” he says. “I don't want to celebrate returning home alongside my- my coronation.”

“I know, Lyubov,” Viktor replies. In Yuuri’s mind, his return home is inexorably linked to his father’s death. Considering the circumstances, it’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to celebrate either event, and regardless of how people try to twist it into something good, the coronation will never be anything but a reminder to Yuuri that his father is gone, and he never knew him.

“I'll have my family watching you if you're alone,” Yuuri says, “in case Takeda talks to you, I don't want you alone with him. Minako-sensei, too, will be ready to step in at a moment’s notice.”

“Thank you.” Viktor kisses Yuuri’s temple. When they go back into their room, Hana is up and around, coffee service has just been delivered for her so she can wake up properly. She smiles when she sees them, wary though it is, and when Yuuri gravitates toward her she pulls him into her arms.

They stand like that for a moment, separating before Hana ruffles his hair. “Bedtime, Yuuri-kun,” she says. “You have a big day tomorrow, you need your sleep.”

Yuuri nods. “Ok, Nee-chan.” Smiling, she pulls him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’ll be here,” she says. “I promise.”

“I know, Nee-chan,” Yuuri replies before he yawns. Hana laughs, smoothing his hair behind his ears.

“Go to bed,” she says, cupping his cheeks and kissing his forehead again. “If you’re not asleep in half an hour I’m coming in to sing to you.”

_“Nee-chan!”_

“I’m kidding,” she laughs. “Now shoo, bedtime.” Plopping down in an armchair, she waves them off with a smile.

Grumbling, Yuuri blushes and leans down to give her another hug before he and Viktor retire for the night.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, they wake earlier than expected and walk out to find Hana sleeping soundly in an armchair. Makkachin noses at her hand, but otherwise flops back to the ground. The position she’s in looks distinctly uncomfortable, but she doesn’t wake up when they say her name.

“She must be exhausted,” Yuuri says, pursing his lips.

“What do you mean?” Viktor asks.

“Hana is weirdly good at staying awake,” Yuuri replies, smiling as he grabs an extra blanket. “She times her sleep well, I've never seen her so exhausted she fell asleep on the job.”

He covers her, tucking the blanket in around her shoulders.

The door opens, Atsuko walking in before she stops in her tracks, eyes wide. “Y-Your Royal Majesty,” she says, bowing, “I apologize for the intrusion. I brought Hana-chan some tea and cookies earlier, I was coming to pick up the dishes.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “Feel free to grab them, then. Does this happen every night?” he asks.

“No,” Atsuko replies, “though I wish I could. It's been so long since I was able to take care of her like a mother should. You understand, Sire, I'm sure.”

Yuuri nods, a painfully sympathetic look on his face. “I do.”

“Your Majesty, if you would like to go back to bed, I'd be more than happy to keep guard for the remainder of tonight, so Hana-chan can sleep,” Atsuko offers. “It would be no trouble.” She’s almost eager. It strikes Viktor once again how hell-bent everyone seems on keeping Yuuri happy, making sure everything runs smoothly for him while allowing him to do what he wants.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, “but I was going to be up soon anyway. We'll be heading down for breakfast in a bit. Hana-san can stay in here, for now.”

Atsuko nods, dipping into a low bow. “Of course, Sire, it wouldn't do to wake her up unnecessarily. Would you like me to bring you something to eat, maybe? Give you two some alone time before the big day?”

“No,” Yuuri replies, “thank you. We’ll be eating with my family.”

Atsuko nods. Looking around, it takes her a moment to spot the dishes, stacking them neatly before picking them up. She’s halfway to the door when she looks back. “If I could beg a favor of one of you,” she asks, “would it be possible for someone to open the door?”

With no further prompting, Viktor walks over to the door and pulls it open. On her way out, Atsuko stops, looks him up and down, and gives him a smile. “I hope you have an _excellent_ day, Mr. Nikiforov. I’m sure the ball will be exciting.” Turning around, she bends her knees in a curtsy as she addresses Yuuri. “You, too, Your Majesty. I hope your day goes well.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies. “I sincerely hope so as well, I’d hate for my first big event to be anything less than incredible for my guests.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” she says, and with a nod of agreement, she takes her leave.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri stands at the end of the hall, staring out the window over the grounds below. He’s wearing a scarlet undershirt layered under a rich black kimono-style shirt and the looser formal pants he’s wearing tucked into boots. The shirt has no pattern on the fabric, but is embroidered with silver inlaid with diamonds at the hip and shoulder. The black haori ends at Yuuri’s ankles, embroidered at the ends of the sleeves and the hem, held closed by a simple silver chain across his sternum. A silver crown rests atop his head, black gemstones in each of the five points glittering in the light. The metal work is delicate—thin bars, woven together where they meet, radiate down from each point to a thin band encircling his head.

He looks beautiful, regal and distant, yet kind. His posture is impeccable and authoritative, determination in the set of his jaw and shoulders. Glancing over, he sees Viktor walking up and his face softens with the smile Viktor knows and loves. Reaching up, he adjusts Viktor’s bow tie, then his shirt collar and waistcoat, before giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

“You look stunning,” he says, tugging at the crisp black jacket.

“I could say the same for you,” Viktor responds with a slight smirk. He brushes his bare hand over the side of Yuuri’s head, feeling the short hairs brush his palm as he cups the back. “The haircut looks good.”

Blushing, Yuuri smiles at him. “Yours, too.” Rocking forward on his tiptoes, he presses a solid kiss to Viktor’s lips. “Are you ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Viktor says.

“Me, too,” Yuuri responds. He’s just as nervous as Viktor is, perhaps moreso. All of the training in the world doesn’t make up for experience, and Yuuri hasn’t been to this sort of event since he was a child. Even then he'd only been to a few before he'd left, with far more room for error granted by virtue of his age.

Kissing him again, Viktor smiles. “We’ll get through just fine.”

There are footsteps behind them, Mari and Hiroko approaching in fine kimono, glimmering in the lights. Hiroko approaches her son, pulling him down for a kiss on the cheek.

“You look so handsome,” she says proudly. Yuuri smiles.

“You're as beautiful as I remember,” Yuuri responds.

Hiroko beams. “You’ve always been such a sweetheart,” she says, patting his cheek.

Mari sidles up to Viktor. “We discussed things with the events coordinator and P.R.,” she says. “You'll be seated between my mother and myself, Vitya.”

Right. He’d forgotten he isn't allowed a place at Yuuri's side until they're publicly engaged, and it seems Yuuri had forgotten as well, judging by the displeased scowl he’s wearing now. Hiroko pats his arm.

“Vicchan will be with us,” she says. “He’ll be fine.”

Sighing, Yuuri nods. “I know,” he says, “I just don't like it.”

“Your Royal Majesties,” a footman says, bowing as he approaches, “Your Royal Highness, Mr. Nikiforov. The guests are assembled and dinner is minutes from being served.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. He’s back to his public persona, and the footman leaves with a bow. His mother and sister each give him another kiss, before Yuuri offers Viktor his arm.

 

They’re announced as they enter the receiving room, Viktor and Yuuri first, followed by Hiroko and Mari. Though Yuuri had said there wouldn't be a lot of people, he’s clearly still using the parties of his childhood as a frame of reference. There can’t be fewer than a hundred guests in the room not including Yuuri’s family, who have yet to arrive. Takeda is there, standing on the far wall near a portrait of Yuuri’s grandfather, staring. Viktor does his best to be discreet about avoiding his gaze, but the one time they make eye contact, the smile that splits Takeda’s face is unpleasant at best.

_(It’s sickening, and it takes everything in Viktor to repress a shudder.)_

Viktor turns back toward the woman Yuuri’s chatting with, the wife of the head of Hasetsu’s City Council. The councilwoman herself is chatting amiably with Hiroko in the corner, both looking like they’re enjoying themselves. Regardless, Yuuri’s once again shaking the hand of his conversational partner. She’s just turning to leave when Isamu’s family is announced, and everyone turns toward the entrance.

A path clears between the door and Yuuri so his family can make their way to him. Isamu and Emi arrive first, both going into a shallow bow. Viktor pulls his arm from Yuuri’s, bows to them, and he and Yuuri both smile as they shake hands. Yuuri’s aunt and uncle quickly move aside so their children can come greet Yuuri, and the same process is repeated. They spend a few minutes making performative small talk, as if they hadn’t all sat around the same breakfast table this morning. Isamu shakes Yuuri’s hand again after a bit, clasping him on the elbow for a moment before offering his arm to his wife so they can make their rounds. The children follow dutifully behind, navigating the strict social rules seemingly with ease.

They're far more comfortable than Yuuri, though it’s hard to tell if you don’t know them. Still, Yuuri knows the rules inside and out, following them to the letter, with most people none the wiser. It isn't too long before Viktor finally sees a familiar (friendly) face.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri says as they approach her, “welcome.”

She turns to face him, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty,” she says with a smile, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Turning towards Viktor, she gives a slight bow. “Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, and Viktor nods uncomfortably. He’s used to being respected, fawned over. He’s not used to being deferred to and he glances at Yuuri, grateful when he feels a reassuring squeeze on his arm.

“Your Majesty,” a familiar voice says from next to Viktor. Ice forms in the pit of his stomach, tendrils of frost crawling up the back of his throat as the smile on his face freezes. He turns, and finds himself face to face with Lilia. Yuuri turns as well, standing next to him with a smile.

“Madame Baranovskaya,” Yuuri says cheerfully. “Welcome back to Hasetsu.”

Lilia bows deeply to Yuuri before looking at Viktor. A spike of dread leaves him unsteady, and Lilia meets his eyes, just before she dips into a deep nod acknowledging him as Suitor to the King. Involuntarily, Viktor feels himself twitch, jerking backward, but Yuuri keeps a firm grip on his arm as Lilia shoots him a look.

 _Say nothing,_ her eyes say, and he swallows his protest before nodding.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, and it sounds absolutely wrong after so many years of ‘Vitya.’ A shiver crawls up his spine.

“Madame Baranovskaya,” he says with a deep nod. There’s an awkward pause as they look at each other, both simultaneously in a position of respect above the other, and neither of them quite feeling comfortable with the new dynamic. Lilia’s far better at covering it though, which she does with a smile.

“You’re doing well,” she says. “This life suits you.”

He can’t quite tell if that’s a positive or a negative, her expression as unreadable as ever, and he flounders for a second, struggling to formulate a response. He’d expected Lilia here, to be sure, but hadn't anticipated how dissonant their interactions would feel when court protocol was in play.

Yuuri steps forward with a smile. “Madame Baranovskaya,” he says, “I want to thank you once again for your discretion during my trip to Chelyabinsk for the Russian Nationals. Your assistance was invaluable, and much appreciated.”

“It was my pleasure, Your Majesty,” she responds with another nod, another small smile in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri had been right, she’d been downright casual in Russia.

Minako steps forward. “Your Majesty, I don’t wish to interrupt, but I have a few people I’d like to introduce Madame Baranovskaya to before dinner gets started.” She glances pointedly between Lilia and Viktor. “If it would be no trouble, perhaps we could join you and Mr. Nikiforov for coffee at a later date? Tomorrow, perhaps? I’m sure everyone would appreciate the opportunity to catch up without the pressure of the eyes of court.”

Yuuri glances between Viktor and Lilia, clearly picking up on the tension mounting between them, before he rubs Viktor’s arm reassuringly and smiles. “I would enjoy that, Minako-sensei. I will see you both in my sitting room tomorrow morning for coffee then. Madame Baranovskaya, welcome once again to Hasetsu, and I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Very much so, Sire,” Lilia replies, with yet another short bow. “Congratulations on your return to Akitsushima.” She turns once again towards Viktor, greeting him silently before turning back to Minako and resuming their conversation.

Viktor is saved from any more awkward interaction by the announcement of dinner. He stays behind with Yuuri and the rest of the Royal Family; those seated on the dais make an entrance once all guests are standing behind their chairs. No one will be seated before Yuuri.

They enter a few moments later, Yuuri leading the way with Viktor on his arm. They’d rehearsed this, too, this morning, with the rest of Yuuri’s family. After climbing the dais, Viktor takes his place two seats down from Yuuri, Hiroko in between them. On his other side is Mari, with Rie at the far end of the table. To Yuuri’s right sits Isamu and his wife, with the twins next to them. Yuuri stands a moment before gracefully stepping in front of his chair and allowing it to be pushed in behind him. At that, the rest of those on the dais take their seats, followed by the guests standing along the sides of the two long tables stretching almost the length of the room.

Almost instantly, wine is being served, and Viktor takes a moment to breathe. Though people are chatting with those to either side of them, Viktor can't help but feel like all eyes are on him, elevated as he is above the rest of the room. They’re almost finished with the salad when Hiroko gently touches Viktor’s arm. He turns to her, and she smiles.

“You're doing wonderfully, Vicchan,” she says softly.

It’s more of a relief than Viktor expected, and he nods gratefully. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he whispers. Though Yuuri and Mari stick to his full name in public, Hiroko has never shied away from calling him ‘Vicchan’ when no one was in earshot. It’s comforting in its own way. She seems to know when he needs the affection, somehow managing to make him feel better when he needs it the most.

“Pssst”

Turning to his left, he sees Rie leaning over the table.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she whispers, smiling when Viktor looks over. “My mom says His Royal Majesty threw a salad at a wall once.”

“Did he, now?” Viktor asks.

Nodding, Mari finishes the bite she’s chewing. “He was three and it had olives on it.”

“He used to dislike olives?” Viktor asks.

“He likes them now?” she asks in return.

Blinking, Viktor goes to answer before hesitating. He’s seen Yuuri eat various kinds of olives on multiple occasions in Detroit, but he’s also gotten into a car with Viktor after a seemingly enjoyable meal and the first words out of his mouth said he’d found it disgusting. Viktor glances at Yuuri, wondering if it’s proper to get his attention in the same way Rie had gotten Viktor’s.

Talking over the Queen Mother is likely a bad idea, but as Viktor’s seated next to her it wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk _to_ her. _Conversation with one’s neighbors is encouraged at meals,_ Minako had emphasized. As Viktor himself is on the dais, his positioning to Yuuri as close as it can be without breaking tradition; it’s a clear indicator of the respect with which Yuuri expects everyone to treat Viktor.

Which means no one can get mad at him for getting Hiroko’s attention. Decision made, he waits for a lull in her conversation with Yuuri before gently touching her arm.

“What is it, Vicchan?” she asks, turning to him.

“If you would be so kind as to ask His Royal Majesty a question for me, Ma’am?” She nods happily in response. Viktor smiles. “I was wondering if he actually _likes_ the taste of olives.”

Her smile widens just a bit before she turns away, whispering in Yuuri’s ear. He makes a vaguely uncertain face and an ‘it depends’ gesture, before whispering in hers. Turning back, she pats Viktor’s arm. “Green and kalamata are okay, but he doesn’t like black olives.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he says, before turning to relay Yuuri’s response to Mari.

“Of course it’s not a straight yes or no,” Mari mutters under her breath.

In short order, their dishes are cleared and the next course is set in front of them. Yuuri, as per usual, starts eating first, and the lull of conversation resumes over the clacking of fine silver against china. Viktor lets his eyes scan over the room. They’re not in the largest dining room, but it’s close. The walls are lined with portraits, with footmen in formal wear in regular intervals. Occasionally, they step forward to serve wine, or to address a guest’s concern. Without looking, Viktor knows that there are several footmen behind them on the dais, some of the most senior-ranking members of the staff being assigned to attend to Yuuri, the Royal Family, and Viktor exclusively.

Minako and Lilia are seated near each other, at the far end of the room, talking with each other and those at neighboring seats. Takeda is at the other table with his wife, much closer to the dais by virtue of his rank. Viktor can see Nakamura and his family a few seats down. There are other familiar faces, nobles and officials Viktor’s met on his various events with Yuuri, but he doesn’t pay them much attention. Everything in the room feels lavish, from the ornate candlesticks and decorative vases holding flower arrangements, to the silverware, the ballgowns and tuxedos interspersed among the traditional wear of Akitsushima’s nobility and the formal uniforms on the footmen and the Royal Guard.

Particularly impressive is the long floral centerpiece on their table. Low, it’s positioned to allow them to see and be seen by all present. Looking back in Takeda’s direction, though avoiding looking at him directly, he sees the man glancing at him. Sees the noble he’s talking to do the same, and their conversation becomes more hushed, more fervent in a way. A cold, stabbing fear strips him of what’s left of his appetite. Fortunately, he’s almost done with his food, can excuse away not finishing it if needed with relative ease. They still have a fruit and cheese course after, with dessert to be served as part of the refreshments at the ball. It’s likely Viktor will be too busy to actually eat during the ball itself, between the dances with Yuuri and his family and the expected flurry of meeting people he hadn’t met before dinner, so it would help to eat while he can.

He finds himself unable to continue. Setting his silverware down, positioning it to let the waitstaff know he’s done, Viktor sits back in his chair.

“Are you doing alright?” Mari says from next to him.

He looks at her. Though she’s maintaining the distantly friendly demeanor required, there’s genuine concern in her eyes and the set of her mouth. Nodding, he takes a sip of his wine. “The nerves are just getting to me, Your Highness,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll pass momentarily.”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she drops the subject. “Are you a fan of cheese?” she asks. “I went to the kitchens earlier to see what they’d had planned, and I’m looking forward to it, I have to say.”

“We have a holiday where it’s tradition to eat dairy,” Viktor says smiling. “Speaking of, His Majesty is lactose intolerant, why are we having a cheese course? Is he just not going to eat much?”

“He’s what?” Apparently Mari hadn’t known.

Viktor glances at his fiancé before he looks back. “He’s lactose intolerant,” he says. “I’d think the Palace wouldn’t allow something that’s just going to give him digestive trouble.”

Mari visibly resists rolling her eyes. “Of course,” she says. “Well, he hasn’t told anyone. Does he not usually eat dairy?”

“He eats it,” Viktor replies after a moment. “Used sour cream on his latkes last Chanukkah, and I’ve seen him eat pizza and nachos and cheesecake, so I guess it doesn’t matter as much to him.”

“What’s a latke?” Rie chimes in.

“Fried grated potato patty,” Viktor answers. That satisfies her curiosity, and she goes back to her dinner.

Smiling, Mari sets her silverware down as well. “I assume he’ll tell people if he doesn’t want dairy on the menu.”

About to respond, there’s another gentle touch on Viktor’s arm. When he turns to Hiroko, she leans close. “His Majesty wants me to ask you how you’re doing,” she says.

Glancing up, Viktor sees Yuuri looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he eats a bite of vegetables.

“I’m doing alright,” Viktor replies. “Her Royal Highness is a riveting conversational partner.”

Smiling at him, Hiroko nods, turning to convey the message to Yuuri. He nods as well, a smile brushing his lips as he finishes the last of the food on his plate, setting his silverware down discreetly. It’s only a few minutes later that the waitstaff move forward to take everyone’s dishes, including the wine glasses used with dinner. Viktor is offered a warm towel with which to wipe his hands and he does so, dropping it back on the plate when he finishes. More wine is poured into a smaller, empty glass that had been sitting towards the center of the table, as the final course is served.

The fruit is seasonal, the small pieces of cheese arranged beautifully. Viktor picks at them. It’s good cheese, to be sure, and he’s positive it would be easier to enjoy in a different setting rather than, say, fifteen feet from a person who’d threatened bodily harm at the very least. He lets out a shaky breath. It’s been an almost agonizing hour of eating as perfectly as he can, holding himself properly while trying not to show how anxious he is, and it’s only going to continue after a short break.

Dinners in Lilia’s circles had rarely included this level of strict scrutiny as far as Viktor is concerned. People had paid attention to him, yes, but beyond etiquette, there wasn’t much on his shoulders. All he had to do was play the part of Living Legend, be cheerful, be agreeable, sign a few autographs and take even more pictures and people were satisfied. Here, though, he’s playing the part of royalty and expected to do so impeccably. Here, there is a lot more riding on his shoulders than his reputation as a figure skater. Here there is little room for error, little forgiveness for unintentional slights, and it’s a dangerous tightrope Viktor is walking.

He glances at Takeda. Takeda is looking back, predatory. Something in his eyes is displeased, seeing Viktor sitting on the dais, but he does nothing other than slowly lift a glass in Viktor’s direction. Viktor in return can do nothing but look down, letting Takeda think he’s still hiding the talk they’ve had, still considering abandoning his fiancé. Stomach lurching, the very idea of eating the cheese and fruit on his plate is suddenly nauseating. He takes a sip of his wine that turns into a too-long gulp.

Yuuri hasn’t missed the exchange, judging by the way he keeps looking at Viktor. It’s discreet, but often enough that Viktor’s noticed it clearly, which means other people might, which means… He does his best to breathe. People are expecting him to be friendly with Yuuri’s family. But not Yuuri himself, no. God forbid he sit next to his… boyfriend, as far as they know, but _still._ All Viktor wants is to be sitting next to his fiancé, to have the reassurance he knows Yuuri wants to offer, but there are rules. There are traditions, there is propriety, there’s a message Yuuri would send by breaching protocol and having Viktor sitting next to him, and it’s a message neither of them want to risk.

Finishing quickly, Yuuri lays his silverware on his plate, indicating that he’s done with his meal. It’s only a few minutes more before everyone else is done, too, and the tables are cleared once again. They’re offered warm towels with which to clean their hands, before Yuuri stands to leave. The entire room rises in unison, and Yuuri turns to Viktor, offering his arm. Viktor takes it gratefully.

Still in the public eye, he’s unable to collapse into Yuuri’s arms like he wants to, anxious as he is, but Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s forearm briefly before they file out. Everyone turns to watch as they walk down to the foot of the dais, down the aisle of sorts between the two tables. Yuuri smiles, greeting his guests with a nod here or there as he walks with his head held high. Viktor does the same, meeting peoples’ eyes and hoping they can’t see the fear in his own. Once they’ve gone through the large double doors, Yuuri pulls Viktor to the sitting room they’ll be waiting in during the short transitory period between the end of dinner and the start of the ball. Officially, it’s to allow all or most of Yuuri’s guests to arrive before he makes his entrance. Unofficially, it’s to give the Royal Family a break between dealing with dinner and dealing with the party.

The door closed behind them, Yuuri pulls Viktor to a couch, sitting him down. Looking at his uncle, he says, “I want ice water brought for everyone.”

Nodding, his uncle goes to relay the message, and Yuuri takes off his haori, draping it over a chair before he sits next to Viktor. Sagging against him, Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s chest.

“What’s his deal?” Rie asks.

Hiroko looks at her. “Vicchan’s just tired,” she says. “It’s been a long day for all of us, and this is his first event like this.”

She nods. Emi walks over and leans down, brushing her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “Bedtime,” she says,  smiling.

“I wanna go to the ball,” Rie responds.

“Not this one,” Emi responds. “Much too late for little Princesses to be up at a party.”

“But Nii-chan and Nee-chan are going,” she whines, looking at her siblings.

“Your brother and sister are both a lot older,” she says, “and they’re expected to be there. They won't be staying the whole time. Now you, young lady, need to go get dressed for bed.”

Sighing, Rie looks at the floor. “I wanna _go,”_ she mutters half-heartedly.

“I know, Hon,” Emi says. “There will be other parties.”

Isamu shows up, with an attendant carrying water and another woman, who makes a beeline for Rie. Rie glances at her, then at her dad, who opens his arms for a hug. She buries her face in his chest until he pulls away, bending down and kissing her forehead.

“We’ll come check on you before we go to sleep,” he says, and she nods. Hugging each of her siblings, and then Mari and Hiroko, she comes over to Yuuri and seems at a loss as far as what to do. Patting Viktor's side, Yuuri asks him to sit up, which he does. Scooting closer to the edge of the couch, he tentatively opens his arms. Smiling, she embraces him, and he chances a kiss to her hair.

“Good night, Rie-chan,” he says, grinning. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

She nods, turning to her governess. “I'm ready,” she says.

“Of course, Your Highness,” is the dutiful response, and the older woman curtsies in the direction of the Royal Family before following Rie out of the room.

The attendant serving water offers glasses to Viktor and Yuuri, both taking one and settling back into the couch, Yuuri nestled against Viktor’s side as he crosses his legs. Everyone else takes their seats in nearby armchairs. Yuuri turns, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s jaw.

“Will you be okay later?” he murmurs.

Drinking some water, Viktor nods. “I have to be,” he says. “I knew it would be tense, Velichestvo, I'm doing alright.”

“You're sure? I can make an excuse if you need.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Leaving now looks suspicious. I'll be fine. I can do this,” he says.

Pursing his lips, Yuuri sighs. “You should use the bathroom now, if you need to,” he suggests.

Thinking about it, it _would_ be a good idea, and Viktor nods. “I'll go find one,” he says after another sip of his water. “Will you still be here when I return, Velichestvo?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says. “We won’t leave without you.”

Viktor nods. Hana is standing guard outside the door, and will tail him discreetly. He takes a deep breath.

“While Vitya’s off doing that,” Mari says, heading out, “I'm going to go change into a dress.” She gestures at the kimono she wears, splendid but too tight around the legs for dancing. Viktor suspects many people here are doing the same, if they’re able and want to dance. He’s almost to the door when Isamu comes up behind him.

“I ought to use the facilities myself,” he laughs, looking back at his nephew.

Yuuri hides gratitude in his smile, and gestures at them to go. They’re halfway down the second hall they’ve walked through when Isamu looks at Viktor.

“Mr. Nikiforov, how is everything going here? Truly. I'd rather you be honest, regardless of how you feel it will come across. I won't think less of you or my nephew.”

Viktor looks at the man. Just about Viktor’s height, Isamu looks him in the eye easily. “His Royal Majesty has been a gracious host in my time here,” Viktor responds.

“No need for that, Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, turning them down another hall. They reach a door, which opens into a small sitting room. When the door is closed behind them, Isamu turns. “I can see how tense you are. Are you doing alright?”

Doing his best to nod, Viktor takes a shaky breath. “I didn't anticipate my nerves being so high,” he lies.

Giving him an appraising look, Isamu frowns. “Is something else going on? Is there something I don't know about?”

Blanching, Viktor swallows what nerves he can. “I can assure you, Your Highness, it’s purely related to the party.” _And Takeda’s presence,_ he doesn't add. Yuuri would have told his uncle if he’d thought it necessary, and if that were the case, Viktor would have been informed. Though it’s clear he doesn't entirely believe Viktor, the Crown Prince decides to seemingly drop it, opening another door leading to a bathroom and gesturing Viktor through in silence.

 

Yuuri’s on the couch when Viktor and Isamu get back, chatting with Mari, who’s now in a long ball gown, wearing her hair pulled back under a tiara. Emi and Hiroko have both opted to stay in their kimono, and Kiyomi is nowhere to be found.

 _“She’s_ changing now,” Yuuri offers by way of explanation when Viktor asks and sits next to him. “We’ll be heading in in a few minutes, everything okay?”

Nodding, Viktor leans against his fiancé and wraps his arms around him. “Your uncle is getting suspicious,” he whispers in Yuuri’s ear as he moves in to kiss his jaw. He feels muscles tense under his lips, before Yuuri takes a sip of water. Wrapping one arm around Viktor’s waist, Yuuri gives it a squeeze in confirmation.

Kiyomi returns after a minute, and it’s only a few more until they’re being told it’s time to go. Hiroko threads her arm through Viktor’s, smiling as she gives him a reassuring pat. Yuuri offers his arm to his aunt, and she moves ahead to walk with him, taking his arm with a smile. Mari walks with her uncle and cousins, chatting with them about the upcoming dances. They walk as a group through the halls, the attendants and footmen lining them bowing as they pass. Viktor finds himself nodding without thinking about it, grateful for Hiroko’s grip on his arm.

As they reach the double doors through which they’ll make their entrances, everyone pauses for a moment. Hiroko, smiling, looks up and straightens Viktor’s jacket and bowtie, adjusts the chain of his pocket watch and his waistcoat.

“You look quite handsome, Vicchan,” she says.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he replies. Yuuri walks over.

“We should take a picture, send it to your family. Maybe a few,” he offers.

“That’s a _wonderful_ idea,” Hiroko says. Mari walks over, taking Yuuri and Viktor’s phones after they pull up their cameras. They do one serious pose, small smiles as they stand together, and another, more lighthearted one, Yuuri’s arm around Viktor’s waist and Viktor’s around Yuuri’s shoulders.

While Viktor sends both pictures to his family (and Phichit, after checking with Yuuri) Mari walks over to her brother, adjusting his crown carefully with satin-gloved hands.

“You okay?” she asks in a hushed whisper.

Yuuri nods. “Y-yeah,” he says before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I'm alright.”

“So far, so good,” she murmurs.

Glancing at Viktor, Yuuri nods again. His sister smiles. “You’ll be with Vitya the entire time, now, you won’t be separated if you don’t want to be.”

“Aside from dancing,” Yuuri mutters.

She sighs. “Yes, but that won't be too much. You should be greeting people, most of the time.”

Yuuri grumbles, “it's my party I ought to be able to enjoy it.”

“You're not here for fun,” Mari says, “you're here to make an impression and establish yourself as sovereign in their eyes.”

Scowling, Yuuri huffs. Isamu and his family are pulled away to make their entrance, waving before they assemble themselves. They walk through the doors, and Viktor can hear the announcer loud and clear before the doors shut again.

Gesturing, Hiroko gets Viktor to bend down so she can adjust his hair, pressing her hands against his cheeks as she looks him in the eye. “You're going to be fine,” she says. “We’ll all be here. Isamu knows we want to make a good, solid impression on court and will be sure to come fetch you if you're alone for too long.”

The message is clear: Isamu still doesn't know about the threat, but will also be on alert. Nodding gratefully, Viktor smiles at Hiroko. “I'll find someone if I need,” he says.

“You do that, Vicchan.”

“Ma’am,” an attendant says nearby, “Your Royal Highness, if you please.” They gesture at the door, and Mari and Hiroko nod. They both give Yuuri a brief nod and a smile as they walk to the double doors, only to step through after a few seconds. They’re announced, and the doors are closed once more.

Yuuri sighs, shaking as he stands in the alcove with Viktor. The glimpses of the party Viktor’d gotten through the open doors looked busy. The party’s almost in full swing by now, the guests guests mingling near the dance floor, waiting for them to make their entrance and perform the first dance. Still anxious about dancing, Yuuri’s made clear the fact he’s not looking forward to it. The night in the ballroom helped, Viktor knows, but this is in front of the court. In front of members of many of the world’s royal families, leaders, nobility. In front of the people who need to see Yuuri as an unshakable monarch. As many people as there were for dinner, there’s at least double that in the ballroom right now. Viktor kisses Yuuri’s forehead.

“Velichestvo,” he whispers quietly.

Breath caught in his throat, Yuuri looks up. His eyes search Viktor’s face in a silent question. Viktor opens his mouth, but they’re interrupted.

“Your Majesty,” an attendant says with a bow, “Mr. Nikiforov. It is time.”

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand with wide eyes, before taking a deep breath. They walk to the doors, standing in front of them while they wait for the announcement.

“Stay just a fraction of a step behind me,” Yuuri whispers, “but take my arm. And don’t forget to use my title. People will be watching, people will be deferring to you, remember that, but if it’s anyone with a title you defer to them, even though they’ll be treating you like you’re my boyfriend, which you are of course, and the first dance is going to be—”

“Velichestvo,” Viktor says, leaning close, “we ran through this. Plenty of times. I’ll be ok.” Still tense from the dinner earlier, Viktor is almost dreading adding dancing and small talk to the things he has to do perfectly. The few functions and events he’d gone to were full of more rules than he’d been comfortable with, but it had gotten easier with time. Minako’s rigorous training has also served to give him a better grasp on the intricacies of court, and he feels comfortable enough at lunches, at small appearances and day trips and the occasional formal event. The meal earlier had gone well, but he knows how to eat in public without making a fool of himself.

This ball, though. He can’t make a mistake without hurting not only his own reputation, but Yuuri’s, and there are _so many people watching._ He’s already made it through dinner, he can make it through this, too. Deep breath in. It’s a performance, in the same way Galas are a performance, and for a moment all eyes will be on him. He's not unfamiliar with being the center of attention, relishes it, even, though the stakes have never felt so high.

The doors are opened and he steps through with Yuuri. They move in unison, thanks to Minako’s relentless drills, and he lets the new muscle memory guide him as they walk to the top stair. The announcer’s voice rings throughout the room.

“His Royal Majesty Yuuri, King of Akitsushima, and his suitor, Mr. Viktor Alexandrovich Nikiforov! They will be performing the first dance in honor of His Royal Majesty’s accession to the throne, and his safe return to Akitsushima.”

They first stand atop the grand staircase, the guests mingling around the floor coming to a standstill and looking at them. Viktor feels every eye in the room scrutinizing everything, from the fit of his tux to the styling of his hair to the arm he has linked to Yuuri’s. _Especially_ the arm he has linked to Yuuri’s. Throwing on his best smile, he goes for a subdued version of his normal public persona. Still genial, still cheerful and kind, but not quite as flashy, not nearly as happy-go-lucky as usual. Nodding at random faces in the crowd, he keeps pace with Yuuri as they make their way gracefully down the stairs.

As they reach the bottom, the people to their sides fall into a deep bow, holding it until Viktor and Yuuri have passed them. Yuuri walks regally, head held high and silver crown glimmering on his brow as he stares straight ahead, but Viktor’s eyes are constantly pulled away to either side as people lower themselves. It’s strange. It’s uncomfortable, and Viktor’s not quite sure how this doesn’t make Yuuri writhe in his skin, but then… this is the life Yuuri had been born into. He tries to imagine a child in his position, imagine the bright-faced Yuuri he’d seen in the pictures striding through the room with all the grace and dignity of his adult counterpart.

He shudders, just barely, but Yuuri squeezes his arm in silent acknowledgment. They make their way down the aisle, stopping just before the dance floor to greet Hiroko and Mari. They both defer to Yuuri, as is expected, but Viktor defers to them. It’s comfortable. It’s what he’s come to be used to, and he’s grateful for the smiling nods of acknowledgement he gets in return.

Yuuri offers his arm once more, nodding at the dance floor while he chews his lower lip, and Viktor offers a reassuring smile. Dance with Yuuri. He can do that. Squaring his shoulders, he inhales deeply, letting himself ease back into that same headspace he falls into when competing. It’s a performance, and he’s center stage, all eyes on him as he dances with the love of his life. He’ll give them a show they’ll never forget. It doesn’t completely ease his discomfort, not with the number of strict social rules running through the back of his mind, but it helps.

It doesn't take long to notice Yuuri’s looking less comfortable by the second. The pressure on him is immense, and his political standing still tenuous. To make a joke of himself in front of his guests could spell disaster socially. Politically, as well. Wishing he could just pull Yuuri into a hug, reassure him that he’ll be fine, that he’ll be safe, that the entire world isn’t on his shoulders, Viktor gets an idea. He takes Yuuri’s arm, leaning over to whisper as they make their way to the center of the floor. “When we dance, follow me,” he says.

“Viktor, I’m supposed to lead,” Yuuri replies.

“You will, vashe Velichestvo, but _follow_ me,” he says, and Yuuri’s eyes widen in understanding. Though the ball is formal, the dance is merely a dance, and Viktor and Yuuri are both skilled enough that Viktor backleading won’t be noticed. Yuuri turns to face Viktor with a grateful nod as they reach their position. Viktor lets his left arm come to rest on Yuuri’s bicep, giving it a barely-perceptible squeeze. He drapes his right hand over Yuuri’s left, briefly massaging the base of Yuuri’s palm with his thumb. He smiles. It’s a long moment they stand like that, Yuuri looking into Viktor’s eyes, before the music starts.

They move together in almost perfect harmony, Viktor needing to give only the smallest hints for Yuuri to know how to move, what to do next. Halfway through the song, Yuuri’s looking considerably more calm, moving easily across the dance floor with Viktor in his arms. It’s almost a dream, if Viktor’s being honest. Their world slowly shrinks to encompass their little pocket of the dance floor, the stares of Yuuri’s guests somehow weighing on neither of them for the duration of the dance. When it ends, neither of them move away even as the floor is filled with couples, all bowing or curtsying to Yuuri before taking their positions.

Next is a somewhat faster-paced song. nothing too strenuous, but as they go to move, Viktor feels Yuuri take the lead. With raised eyebrows he asks if Yuuri’s sure, if he’s comfortable enough for this, but a fond smile and a nod answers the question. Yuuri’s feeling better, now. A strong dance partner, Yuuri leads them gracefully across the dance floor, the people around them mere blurs of color and light, but none are so radiant as the man in Viktor’s arms.

Yuuri’s smiling, truly _smiling_ for the first time since lunch, and while propriety keeps it from being a wide grin, it’s nonetheless full of love. Yuuri looks more alive than he has in ages, and it’s a moment, a memory Viktor knows he will cherish for the rest of his life. They hardly notice when the second song changes to the third, the third bleeds into the fourth, and they finally come to a stop flushed and panting. Mari steps in at that point.

“Would you mind if I stole my little brother?” she asks quietly.

“Of course not,” Viktor replies, bowing gracefully. Mari gives a nod in Minako’s direction.

After walking over, Viktor offers his hand, and Minako takes it with a smile. The music starts again, and they begin their dance.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” She smiles.

“His Majesty is an excellent partner, once he allows himself to get immersed.”

Her lips quirk up at the corner. “Indeed, he is,” she replies. “You're quite skilled at facilitating that, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Feeling himself blush, Viktor moves them into a promenade. “You're referring to the backleading?”

A sly grin. “I suspected you might have been, but I wasn’t sure. I was referring, actually, to however it is you generally help put him at ease. He trusts you, and… despite his friendly demeanor he’s very slow to trust.”

“I understand,” Viktor says. The people he knows Yuuri trusts absolutely numbers fewer than ten, even including Makkachin. The number hasn’t grown since Yuuri’s return to court, as if he’s permanently closed himself off to new relationships. Though Viktor knows it’s for the best, knowing doesn't make him feel any better. Yuuri constantly has to be on guard, still insisting to no end that Detroit was worse, that at least he can be _honest_ with people now. Prepared for a life of distrust, that Yuuri grew comfortable enough to trust Viktor so completely, without hesitation, is incredible, and somehow a far more profound realization than Viktor had expected it to be. Nodding gratefully at Minako, he smiles. “I’ll do my best to make sure his trust is not misplaced.”

“I believe you will,” Minako says as the song comes to an end. Somehow, they’ve ended up near Yuuri and Mari, and with a gesture and a nod, they trade partners. Mari smiles at Viktor, and he sees Yuuri smile at Minako. They dance well together, with her having been Yuuri’s sole instructor over the years, and when the music starts they take off, Yuuri’s robes swirling around him. Mari herself is good at ballroom, presumably having also been extensively trained, and Viktor finds she’s a joy to dance with as well.

Once this dance ends, Viktor finds himself being pulled into dance after dance with different partners, all people curious about either his career or how he could possibly have met their now-King at a coffee shop. He does what he can do deflect the more invasive questions, others, he answers based on Yuuri’s statements and interviews with press, keeping their answers consistent between them. There is, after all, an ‘official’ story for a reason.

When the musicians take a break, Viktor does too, wandering across the dance floor in search of someone he knows. He doesn’t expect to run almost directly into Lilia. Her dress, while fitted, is loose enough for dancing, her hair in a severe bun with minimal decoration. Stoic, beautiful, she carries herself in a manner to which Viktor feels he can only hope to ascribe. Seeing him, she dips into the briefest of bows, and once again the discomfort rises.

“Madame Baranovskaya,” Viktor says.

“Mr. Nikiforov. It seems congratulations are in order.”

Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Viktor moves a bit further from the dance floor. “Congratulations?”

“Please, I haven’t seen you smile like that for years,” she says.

“I told you in Russia he made me happy.”

“I never doubted you,” she says. “It’s obvious.”

She’s being strangely nice about things, and he’s finding it easier to be around her when Yuuri’s not, though he still wouldn’t call it _easy._ Not here.

“His Majesty said you had a plus-one on your invitation, can I expect another familiar face?”

She scoffs. “Don't be silly, V-Mr. Nikiforov. I have no desire to spend my time in Hasetsu _babysitting.”_ Her opinion of Yakov certainly hasn’t changed, and she’s never had high regard for those she instructed. The slip-up though, would be entertaining if he wasn’t so put off by how she’s acting.

“I see,” he replies, sipping his champagne.

“I see Minako has been working on your form. Finally got you to stop dropping your chin while you dance, though your arms could use some work.”

Raising an eyebrow, Viktor takes another drink. “I hadn't realized I’d be unable to dance with my boyfriend without receiving critique. At his _Coronation_ _Ball,_ no less.”

She looks taken aback. It’d be in bad form to fight back and she knows it, and there’s a part of Viktor that feels guilty. They’ll already be talking tomorrow, he could have just smiled and made small talk like Lilia had taught him all those years ago.

“I look forward to coffee tomorrow,” he says in an attempt to move the conversation out of dangerous territory. There’s too much old hurt, too much strife, for it to end any way but badly, especially here.

“I do as well,” she says. “It’s been a while since I’ve last seen both yourself and His Majesty. I'm glad to find you both in good spirits.”

“Did you think we wouldn't be?”

“I did not know. There was no way to anticipate exactly how things would go.”

Viktor nods. “Fortunately His Majesty has been incredible as I've adapted to life here, and Minako-sensei has been wonderful in her instruction. I’ve been well-prepared.”

“I'd be inclined to agree.” Another compliment. It’s hard to tell if she means it, or if circumstances are pushing her to be more polite than she would like. “How are you feeling about the next season?”

Maybe she just wants to know if the complex’s prized skater is coming back to win even more medals. He feels his eyes narrow, his grin falter.

“Things are a bit busy right now,” he says. “I'll have an answer for you by mid-summer at the latest.”

“You're not sure you're coming back.” It isn't a question.

It’s the first he’s told her of his thoughts of retirement, but he really doesn't want to discuss this right now. He’s too busy dealing with Takeda to put real thought into something he doesn't need to decide on immediately.

“I want to see how well my typical schedule living here will balance with the training regimen I would need to keep up in order to remain competitive.”

“You would leave skating for this?” Though she doesn't gesture at their surroundings, he can see the sentiment in her face. _Is he leaving for the title? The money? The glamor of a Royal life? Is he just being selfish?_ The assumptions he imagines she’s making are unlimited, but it’s time to put them to rest.

“Don't be silly, I was thinking of retirement long before I knew he was royalty. Long before I’d even _met_ him.” He says it casually, with a smile, but with such utter sincerity he knows she believes him. She should. It’s the truth.

“Is that so?” The expression on her face doesn't change in the least, but there’s a weight to her tone that makes him wonder if she actually _cares._

“It is.”

Glancing to Viktor’s side, she gives a deep nod of her head. “Your Majesty,” Viktor hears just before he feels Yuuri’s hand on his lower back.

“Madame Baranovskaya,” Yuuri says. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?”

“Of course not,” she replies graciously.

“We were just discussing coffee tomorrow,” Viktor adds.

“I'll ask for the tiny pastries,” Yuuri says. “I like the tiny pastries.”

Lilia chuckles. “You always have, Sire.”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “Viktor, I've told you about tea with Minako-sensei when I was younger?” Viktor nods. “Well,” Yuuri continues, “when Madame Baranovskaya was in Hasetsu I'd inevitably have tea with both her and Minako-sensei, because I liked tea and spent a lot of time with Minako-sensei, and when I was about… seven, I believe, they were having it Russian-style with the samovar and brewing it really strong and then adding water? Anyway, I'd never had it like that before, and I wanted tea so I poured myself a cup without extra water.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. “Did you drink it?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says cheerfully, “and I almost cried. Right there in front of Madame Baranovskaya.”

Lilia raises one eyebrow.

“Ok, so I _did_ cry,” he corrects. “But she taught me how to do the thing and then I really liked it.”

“And that's why you knew what to do the first time I had the samovar on at my place?”

Yuuri nods. It’s strange to think that Yuuri’d met Lilia… had _known_ Lilia, since he was a child. That she’d been able to recognize him by a scar, that he has these memories of her from the time he was three at the oldest… Twenty years ago, Viktor hadn't even met her, though he would soon. He takes another drink. The champagne is sweet, light, one of Viktor’s favorites he realizes, now that he has a moment to actually taste it. He looks at Yuuri.

“Did you know I love this one?” he asks, holding up the flute. Yuuri smiles in response, nodding.

“I did. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Were you involved in much of the planning for the Ball, Sire?” Lilia asks. She’s back to a more formal tone, now that Yuuri’s around, even if she did look vaguely fond as he talked about the tea they’d had when he was a child. Viktor’s head threatens to start spinning.

“Not beyond specifying the champagne and what sort of fruit wines I wanted,” Yuuri answers. “My mother and her staff were instrumental in making this celebration what it is.”

“It’s truly splendid,” Lilia says.

“Madame Baranovskaya!” Hiroko walks over, and both Lilia and Viktor bow their heads in a practiced movement.

“Your Majesty, I was just hearing that you're responsible for this,” she gestures in a vague circle.

Hiroko laughs, “I had good help. Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“Absolutely, Ma’am,” Lilia replies. “It’s been good seeing Mr. Nikiforov doing so well and, of course, His Royal Majesty.”

“I've been meaning to thank you for taking care of my son when he was in Russia.”

“My pleasure, Ma’am.” She’s being almost disgustingly polite. It’s hard to tell if she’s just nicer to people who she sees as her equals or betters, or just rude to her charges, but either way Viktor finds himself consciously avoiding giving her a side-eye. Yuuri looks vaguely conflicted himself, and Viktor _knows_ he’s trying to reconcile the Lilia he knows and remembers with the demanding, harsh instructor Viktor’s told him stories about.

You think you know someone…

His discomfort is going from ever-present to almost anxiety-inducing, and it isn't escaping Yuuri’s notice. Offering his arm for Viktor to take (which he does promptly), Yuuri smiles at Lilia and his mother.

“Viktor and I ought to greet my guests,” he says. “I do look forward to coffee, tomorrow, and hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Madame Baranovskaya.”

She nods graciously in their direction. “Of course, Your Majesty. Mr. Nikiforov.”

Viktor barely has time to nod in return before Yuuri is sweeping him away, quickly exchanging Viktor’s empty champagne flute for two full ones. They take a slow circuit around the room. Most of it is comprised of Yuuri introducing Viktor, thanking people for their condolences and  making small talk about how happy he is to be home, reunited with his family. He talks about Viktor and how happy they are together. There’s a lot of smiling and nodding, a lot of Viktor adding short anecdotes and laughing along with their jokes.

Each person they meet, though, is on their best behavior. They bow, nod, defer throughout the conversation, even to Viktor. Some are more formal than others, one person goes so far as to kiss Yuuri’s hand. Viktor’s, as well, and they share a disgusted look with each other as they walk away. Yuuri snorts softly, with a vague smirk.

There’s a distance between Viktor and each person he meets. Far more than he’s experienced at any sort of party before. It’s comfortable in its own way, disconcerting in another. Yuuri’s concern about the press in Ostrava is more understandable, now. He wonders if they'd be nearly as polite if he were here alone or with Lilia, or anyone else instead of the nation’s monarch. Doubtful.

It seems they’ve greeted almost everyone at the party by the time Yuuri grabs them more champagne and pulls Viktor into a secluded corner.

“Here,” he says, holding a flute out. “Drink.”

Taking it, Viktor drains half before he knows it, and the other half when he remembers how awkward seeing Lilia was. Never in his life has he been more grateful to not see Yakov. He exchanges his now-empty flute for a new one, taking a drawn-out sip.

Yuuri tips back his own flute with alarming speed, taking half the champagne in one go as Viktor sips his own.

Viktor blinks, before grinning. “Velichestvo,” he says, leaning in to whisper in Yuuri’s ear, “Are you going to dance for me tonight?”

Blushing, Yuuri sips the rest of his champagne. “Would you _like_ another dance?” His eyes move across the room. He’s the very picture of composure and has been whenever Viktor’s caught glimpses of him during his dances with others. Up close, though, and especially without all eyes in the room on him, Yuuri looks a little bit anxious and mildly uncomfortable. When he looks back up at Viktor, however, he only seems concerned.

“Viktor, how are you doing?” _Are you ok?_

 _No,_ he wants to say. _No, I’m not, because being loved by the public is different from being revered, being treated as better, and the wrongness of seeing Lilia bow and act… like this… is almost distressing._ Now’s not the time. Here is not the place, so he purses his lips for a moment before answering. “I just didn’t quite know what to expect with being deferred to, Velichestvo.”

Yuuri smiles in understanding. “Yeah,” he says softly, “it’s strange when there are so many people.”

Viktor does his best not to gape. “It’s still strange when there are _any_ people,” he responds quickly, “and Lilia being here didn’t help.”

Mouth slightly open, Yuuri’s eyes widen. “Oh. Yes, I can see how it would be… yeah. I guess if you didn’t grow up with it, it must… You get singled out all the time, though?”

“It’s different,” Viktor says. “We can talk about this later?”

Yuuri nods. “I need to do more rounds, there’re a few people I knew as a kid I want to chat with some more. Do you need a moment to yourself?”

Viktor goes to move forward, to tell Yuuri he’s fine, but Yuuri’s giving him an out, a break from the formalities of accompanying a king. He nods gratefully. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Velichestvo,” he says, “but if you need me, call me over, or send someone to do it.”

Yuuri glances around. “Be careful, Viktor, how you phrase things,” he says softly. “I don’t want you getting in trouble for bossing me around.” Viktor nods. Yuuri presses a kiss to his lips, quickly, before he smiles and vanishes into the crowd.

 

Yuuri hasn’t been gone long when a man with copious medals on the front of his tuxedo sidles forward, followed shortly by a woman in a flowing navy ball gown. “Mr. Nikiforov,” he says cheerfully, “do you have a moment?”

There isn’t any option but to say ‘yes,’ so Viktor nods, moving his champagne to his left hand. Taking the man’s hand when it’s offered, he gives a firm shake.

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” he says. There’s no way for him to figure out who this man is, how he’s supposed to be acting, and he glances around the room in search of Yuuri.

The man clears his throat, pulling Viktor’s attention back.

“I must confess, I'm a bit curious as to what you do, Mr. Nikiforov. For a living.”

“I'm on the Russian National Figure Skating Team.”

“I meant beyond the sports.” The man chuckles, as if his meaning should have been obvious. Does he think figure skating is a hobby for Viktor?

“Figure skating, and the associated sponsorships and work opportunities are how I make my living,” he says genially as the corners of his smile thin to a razor’s edge.

“Oh. That's… fascinating. Have you won many titles?”

Viktor is slightly taken aback. People who know of his career typically are aware of his accomplishments, even if it's in the most general sense. “Well, yes. I'm a two-time Olympic Gold Medalist, the reigning consecutive five-time World Champion, and five-time Grand Prix Final gold medalist.”

The man steps forward. “You’re an _athlete,_ then.” His tone of voice says that’s nothing Viktor should take pride in.

Viktor pulls his shoulders back, juts out his chin some, and nods. “I am.” He’ll be damned if anyone is going to tell him he should be ashamed. He’s worked hard for his position, worked hard for his titles, to ensure his place on the podium. This man ought to spend a day running jumps before he sneers at a ‘mere athlete.’

“Are you of the noblesse, sir?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you of noble birth,” the woman clarifies as the man scoffs.

“I am not,” he replies. “Russia hasn’t had a noble class for almost a century now.”

The man gives Viktor a disdainful once-over before his mouth twitches momentarily into a sneer. “So you're just an athlete?” Just an athlete? Viktor isn’t one to brag, but...

“I wouldn’t describe him quite like that, Your Grace,” Mari says as she comes to stand at Viktor’s side. “Mr. Nikiforov has had a hand in revolutionizing Russian figure skating after the fall of the Soviet Union. He's known as both Russia’s National Hero and Living Legend.” She looks firmly at the nobles before her. “He’s an esteemed Olympian, at the top of his field, and Suitor to His Royal Majesty the King.” There’s a note of warning in her voice, while her expression remains genial.

“Apologies, Your Royal Highness. I meant no offence.” The man gives a short bow. “How did you come to know the king?” he asks Viktor.

“Regrettably,” Mari says before Viktor can open his mouth, “details of King Yuuri’s time in hiding are still unable to be discussed publicly. Suffice to say, there are no suspicious circumstances surrounding Mr. Nikiforov’s relationship with His Royal Majesty.” Looping her arm through Viktor’s, Mari gives a nod to the nobles. “If you'll excuse us,” she says before whisking Viktor away. “How are you doing, Viktor?” She says, just barely audible over the murmur of the crowd.

“So far, so good,” he says.

“His Majesty says you were having trouble with Madame Baranovskaya earlier.”

“I'll be okay, Your Highness,” he says. “We're going to have coffee with Minako-sensei and Madame Baranovskaya tomorrow. I enjoyed our dance,” he says in an attempt to redirect the conversation.

Mari takes it in stride. “Likewise. His Majesty had told me you were skilled in ballroom. He wasn't wrong.” Handing him a glass of plum wine, she moves to take them on a circuit of the room.

“Madame Baranovskaya taught me well,” he responds.

“It shows.” They sip their wine as they walk in silence. Mari smiles at the people they pass, and Viktor follows suit. _“You need to be shown to be close to the Royal Family,”_ Mari had said. She’s making sure it happens.

The wine is slightly thicker than he expected, sweet and rich on his tongue as he walks. It takes only a few minutes to make a circuit of the outside of the room and they move towards the center, weaving through groups of people as they chatter.

“I didn’t realize you were so familiar with my career,” Viktor remarks as they near the staircase.

“I thought it would help to know more about my brother’s boyfriend than just ‘his name is Viktor Nikiforov and he has an adorable poodle and he figure skates.’”

“He told you how adorable Makkachin is?”

“I knew more about your dog than _you_ for a while there.”

That is frankly adorable, if Viktor’s being honest, and he can't contain the smile creeping across his face. Mari huffs next to him.

“You two deserve each other.”

A passing noblewoman catches Mari’s attention, pulling her into conversation while Viktor looks on. Allowing himself to glance around the room, he takes in the flowing, intricate metalwork, the gleaming silver decor surrounding him. Inlaid into the walls, it shines in the light, echoing the patterns of the chandeliers and the sconces lining the room.

With a now-empty glass, Viktor politely interrupts Mari’s conversation to tell her he’ll be back after he gets a drink. She smiles and nods, and Viktor gives a cursory bow to the woman she’s talking to. There’s an area towards one of the ends of the banquet tables that’s relatively open, with few people around, where more glasses of wine are displayed in neat rows. Next to them are crystal flutes of champagne, and Viktor takes one, drains it as discreetly as he can, and grabs another to drink while heads back to Mari.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he hears behind him in the voice that haunts his nightmares. Already turning to leave, Viktor comes face-to-face with Takeda.

“Yes, Your Excellency?” He’s got his press smile on now, ice in the guise of geniality as he takes a sip of his champagne.

“I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. I hadn’t thought you a stupid man.”

Viktor glances around the room. No one is within earshot. Takeda chose this point to approach for that reason, and Viktor looks back at him. “I fail to see what it is that would give you the impression,” he says. He may as well take advantage of their relative seclusion.

“Have you told him?” Takeda asks. “I saw you two talking back and forth at dinner.”

Taking a sip of his champagne, Viktor raises one eyebrow. “If you _must_ know, I was curious as to His Majesty’s preferences regarding olives.”

This isn't the answer Takeda’s wanting to hear, truthful though it is.

“Have you thought about my proposal, then? As His Royal Majesty’s… _boyfriend,”_ Takeda says as Viktor’s heart claws its way up his throat, “it would do you well to learn to think things through in their entirety.”

 _He can’t know._ Viktor looks hurriedly around the room before his eyes are drawn back to Takeda, stepping closer. “Mr. Nikiforov, I don't know what you get from playing at royalty but I can assure you, it isn't worth it.”

“And you would know this how?” Viktor bites. As the one person who’s _supposed_ to know about the threat, he has more liberty in his treatment of the nobleman than even Yuuri does at this point. Takeda looks taken aback.

“You _dare_ assume—”

“I'm just saying,” Viktor says with a dazzling grin, “you were seated how far from the Royal Family again? I think I counted ten seats or so, but it was a bit hard to see from where I was.” He’s running his mouth but at this point Takeda already hates him for staying in the country to begin with. Despite their relative solitude, Takeda can’t do much more than threaten him harder.

Livid, Takeda’s hand shakes as he brings his champagne to his lips. Public disrespect of Viktor is public disrespect of his _king,_ and the way Takeda goes on and on about the monarchy and how much he loves it, that’s clearly not territory into which he wants to venture. He gives Viktor a long, appraising look with an expression of pure disgust. “Mr. Nikiforov, you are walking a thin line.”

“My profession involves gliding on a knife’s edge, _Your Excellency,_ and I must say my balance is superb.” Sputtering, Takeda grasps for some sort of response before taking a hurried sip of his drink and doing his best to mold his face into something less vile. Viktor turns to see who’s approaching just as Isamu comes up next to him.

“Mr. Nikiforov, I've been wondering where you were.”

Viktor bows at the neck. “Your Highness.”

Takeda’s bow is deeper, Viktor notes. Somewhat more exaggerated as well. When he comes back up, his eyes flicker to Viktor’s face before he addresses the Crown Prince. “Your Royal Highness,” he says, “it is good to see you well. I was just congratulating Mr. Nikiforov on the announcement of his _engagement.”_

Isamu laughs. “There’s no engagement just yet,” he says, and it sounds vague and fuzzy and distant as Viktor fights to keep himself steady. “His Royal Majesty’s announcement said only that they were romantically involved.”

“Of course,” Takeda says, looking for all the world like he’s embarrassed about the slip-up, “I hadn't had the opportunity to watch the announcement myself, and as there is the upcoming article, it seems my mind put the pieces together wrong. My most sincere apologies, Your Highness.” The way he’s looking at Viktor, though… There’s no way he knows, he _can’t._ That would make all this secrecy, all of this tiptoeing worthless and Viktor fights back bile.

There was an unpleasant surety in Takeda’s words, his tone a scalpel cutting terror into every fiber of Viktor’s being and he _knows it._ Isamu laughs, shakes Takeda’s hand jovially, and guides Viktor away. He can’t help but look over his shoulder, and Takeda is glaring daggers through a smirk.

“It’s about time to exit,” Isamu says, pulling Viktor’s attention to him.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Viktor responds.

Isamu looks him up and down. “You look shaken,” he says.

“I'm fine.” It comes out a whisper, and Viktor knows Isamu doesn't believe him. They can't say anything else before they’re weaving their way through the large crowd, towards the staircase where Yuuri stands with his family. It’s clear when Yuuri notices Viktor he knows something happened, and he visibly refrains from rushing over. They meet eyes, and Viktor shakes his head.

_Not here, not now._

A minute nod says Yuuri’s gotten the message.

Soon enough, Viktor’s threading his arm through Yuuri’s, pressing himself against his fiancé as much as he can get away with. Yuuri has to know. Yuuri has to be told.

Viktor has to get out of here.

He barely remembers leaving, the announcement a blur, Yuuri’s words of thanks to his guests moreso, but once they get out the double doors Yuuri pulls Viktor towards the residential wing. He navigates easily, taking them through some passages for the most direct route, but when they get to the bedroom he doesn't hesitate to pull Viktor in.

Going straight for the mechanism to open the secret room, Yuuri drags Viktor in and closes the door behind him.

“What happened?” he asks.

Stricken, Viktor looks at him. “He knows, Yuuri, somehow he _knows.”_

“You're sure?” Pulling off his haori, Yuuri drapes it over the back of a chair.

Viktor takes a deep breath. “Mostly. There was weird emphasis on ‘boyfriend’ at one point, like he said it very deliberately, but then…”

“Then what?”

“He told your uncle he was congratulating me on our engagement. Like it was fact.”

“What was he actually doing?”

“Threats, again,” Viktor says. “But he sounded so _sure,_ Yuuri.”

Pulling Viktor into his arms, Yuuri holds him close. “I don't know how he’d know,” he whispers, voice thick. “I don’t… We’ve been so careful.”

“I know,” Viktor says. “I don’t… I dont know for sure, I just… Yuuri, the way he was talking…”

The door opens and both of them freeze.  “It’s me,” Isamu says, closing the door behind himself. Yuuri visibly does his best to shove his anxiety under a mask. “Yuuri-sama what the hell is going on?”

“Excuse me? I won’t be spoken to like this, you have no right to be questioning me!” Yuuri pulls his arms from around Viktor, turning towards his uncle.

“I am your _uncle,”_ Isamu says.

“And I am your _King,”_ Yuuri retorts.

“I _saw_ Viktor’s reaction to Takeda, is something going on that I don’t know about? Have there been threats?”

“If this concerned you,” Yuuri says, glaring, “you would have been told by now.”

“As the heir to the throne you bet your ass it concerns me!”

“As I was not the person _threatened,”_ Yuuri bites, “your position relative to the fucking throne was irrelevant!”

“Yuuri-sama, threats against Viktor are threats against _you._ They do not want him marrying into the monarchy, and to keep that from happening one of the two of you needs to be taken out.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Yuuri retorts. “I’ve spent years thinking of this shit, probably more than _you!”_

“Do you forget how your grandfather died?!” As Isamu shouts the room goes silent, Yuuri dropping his head and staring at his hands. “Do you forget I spent fifteen years watching my brother go after threat after threat so you could come home? Almost ready to call you back when another sign would pop up that things weren't safe… Every time he was told we shouldn't call you home it was like losing you again. Yuuri-sama, you are _not_ the only one who’s lived under the shadow of threats his entire life.”

Hurting, scared, it’s easy to see Yuuri withdraw into himself, cloaking himself in his title as he glares at his uncle and speaks in a low, dangerous tone. “You have the _audacity_ to—”

“Lyubov,” Viktor interrupts. Both men look at him. “Lyubov, he’s trying to help. He understands.”

For a long moment Yuuri looks like he wants to yell at Viktor, before his face softens and he nods at Isamu. “My apologies,” he says, “I was a bit out of line.” Honest and sincere, his apology takes his uncle by surprise. Looking between Yuuri and Viktor, Isamu blinks a few times before straightening his haori.

“Yuuri-sama, you don’t have to—”

“Vitya is right, is he not?” he says.

Isamu nods at his nephew. “Still I might have approached things better. You both must be terrified.”

With wide eyes Yuuri looks at his uncle. For a moment it seems he wants to insist that he’s fine, but as he holds his uncle’s gaze his face crumbles. Fists clenched at his sides, Yuuri does his best to stand tall even as he cries silently, nodding at his uncle before being pulled into his arms.

“Yuuri-sama,” he whispers, “I've got you. I helped my brother through this, I can help you too.”

“I'm _King,_ I shouldn't _need_ help,” Yuuri says forcefully. “I _shouldn't.”_

“Forgive my tone, but that’s not true. In the least. Your father didn't do everything alone and neither should you, Yuuri-sama. I'm your uncle, I'm not just going to make you do this on your own. Even after I'm not Crown Prince anymore, I'm still not going to stop being here for you.” Burying his face in his uncle’s chest, Yuuri clings.

“How are _you_ doing, Viktor?” Isamu asks, brow knit with concern as he holds his nephew.

Viktor takes a deep breath. “I'm doing alright,” he says, “all things considering.” With a strange expression Yuuri looks at him. He knows, though, Viktor buries his emotions around people he doesn't know well, and Isamu is definitely not someone he knows well. Not in the least. Still, though, he seems trustworthy.

“Who else knows?”

Pulling away from his uncle, Yuuri sighs. “Kaa-chan, Mari-neechan, Hana-neechan, and Minako-sensei.”

“Okay,” Isamu says, “we’ll keep it that way. I trust Minako-san, and I don't know Hana-san very well but if you and Minako-san trust her, I will, too.”

“What do we _do?”_ Yuuri asks.

“We keep you safe until you go to Russia, and ramp up security when you're gone. I'll figure out an excuse, but only the most loyal members of the Guard will be permitted to go with you. Hopefully in the time you're gone, we can expose the threat, so you're safe when you—”

Viktor follows Isamu’s eyes to Yuuri, unusually hunched over as he takes deep, shaky breaths, tears streaming down his face. “I'm leaving again?” he asks. Scared, voice small, he sounds like a child and in an instant, Isamu’s face falls.

“No, Yuuri-sama, no,” he says, putting his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, “you're coming back when you're scheduled to and not one hour later, do you hear me?”

Nodding, Yuuri rubs halfheartedly at his cheeks, wiping the tears off as Isamu pulls him into another hug. “You're not leaving again,” he repeats. “We’re not letting you go like that, not when we’ve just gotten you back.”

There’s muffled cursing from just beyond the wall. Someone pushes on the door a bit, before there’s another voice and the click of the mechanism releasing. Mari and Hiroko walk in, followed by Minako. Viktor sits with Yuuri on the couch once he’s taken his crown off, and they listen as Viktor does his best to explain the threat to Isamu. Viktor chokes up as he gets to the ball and the threats there, but Isamu, luckily, takes over once Viktor mentions his arrival.

Sharing a long look with Yuuri, Viktor’s fingers brush across his necklace as he raises his eyebrows in a question. At this point, they need to come clean. It was one thing when they assumed no one knew they’d gotten engaged, but now that there’s the real possibility that Takeda and whoever he may be working with knows… Closing his eyes, Yuuri nods. Isamu is just getting to Takeda’s comment about the engagement when Yuuri clears his throat.

“What has us most concerned,” he says, clasping Viktor’s hand, “is… About his comment about us being engaged…”

 _“No,”_ Mari says, “Yuuri, tell me you two _didn't.”_

“I'm sorry,” Yuuri says, staring at his knees. “We were so careful, we only talked about it like twice and… Mari, I love him, he loves me, everything was just… We know we want this, we've been working towards this since the start!”

“Are you trying to get the both of you killed?”

“It's not like I forced him, _he_ asked _me!”_

Isamu looks at him. _“That’s_ not something you need to repeat in public,” he says. “Where did you discuss this?”

“The sitting room off his working office,” Viktor says.

“And once in the bedroom,” Yuuri adds before Viktor can continue, “when we told Makkachin.” Ah, that’s why. He’s protecting Yuri. Viktor nods in agreement.

“That’s all, Yuuri-sama?”

He nods. “I mean, we’ve talked like we were hoping to, which is basically public knowledge by now, but… never verbally confirmed it beyond those two times, and we were _really quiet_ both times.”

“Did you two exchange rings?”

“Necklaces,” Yuuri says, “but we didn’t actually say anything. For all anyone knows, it could be just weird matching boyfriend stuff, I mean, everyone assumes I act like an American, right?”

“You _do_ act American,” Viktor says. Mari nods in agreement.

“Not my point,” Yuuri says, blushing, “my point is that we’ve never confirmed it. Never implied it beyond those two instances, and the necklaces could just be me being weird.”

With a sigh, Isamu crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop wearing those,” he says. “Too risky, especially on the trip. My goal, instead of thwarting this plan, is to expose it.”

“What?!” Yuuri says. “If he finds out Viktor said something—”

“If we act quickly, decisively, and with enough evidence to justify our actions, we can expose it and thwart it in one go. We need precision with this, and I’m going to need to talk to Hana-san.”

“She’ll be here in a moment,” Mari says, holding up her phone. “Her mom’s being pushy about spending time with her, and she needs to lose her before she can make her way here.”

Hiroko clears her throat. “Why don’t we all go get into something more comfortable while we wait? Mari-chan, please have them bring some pastries and coffee, tell them we’re having a private celebration for Yuuri-kun. Ask for some cake. Yuuri-kun, Vicchan, go get out of your formal clothing, into something for bed so you don’t have to worry about wrinkles.”

Sighing, Yuuri stands, offering his hand to Viktor and pulling him up with ease. They go together into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. The first thing Yuuri does is remove his crown, setting it roughly on his desk.

“He threatened you again?”

“More called me stupid for not heeding his warnings,” Viktor replies as he undoes his bowtie. Yuuri’s pulling off his boots, having forgotten to take them off by the door, and is untying his pants when he speaks again.

“He won't get away with this. I'll make sure of that, Vityusha, he’ll regret this.” He sounds entirely sure of himself.

Viktor looks over at his fiancé. Pulling off his own jacket, he lays it on the bed before undoing his waistcoat. “Will we be any safer in Russia?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri replies, soft. “Takeda can't get to us there, not personally, and I'm having Hana-neechan screen everyone assigned to us for security, but I'm… not sure. I've never really felt safe anywhere, so it could be that, though.” Draping his formal outfit over a bar in the closet so it doesn't get wrinkled, Yuuri rummages around for a second before coming out with jinbei for both of them.

The fabric is soft and loose, breathing well in the humidity of summer. Viktor’s taken a liking to them recently, as comfortable as they are, and he finishes changing quickly. Yuuri’s just tying his shirt closed when Viktor walks past to put his tuxedo over the bar so it can be laundered as well, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s lips as he passes. Laughing, Yuuri manages to pull him in for another before heading into the bathroom to exchange contacts for glasses.

When they return, there are snacks to be had, plenty of rich coffee to be poured into fine china mugs. Viktor grabs some left-over cream puffs, a few petit-fours and other desserts he hadn't had a chance to eat. Yuuri does the same, but drains his first cup of coffee in an instant, pouring a second without hesitation. Mari looks at him and snorts.

“You should change your shirt,” she says, laughing.

Turning, Yuuri looks down and Viktor can see coffee down Yuuri’s front. Scowling, Yuuri sets his cup down and leaves the room. He’s back in short order, wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, and he grabs both food and coffee before sitting on the couch with Viktor, folding his legs under himself and balancing the plate of food on his lap. Mari sits on the couch next to him, leaning over to kiss his cheek before settling in. Hana arrives a moment later, sitting on the bed, and after Yuuri explains what’s happened between Takeda and Viktor in the past few days Isamu turns to address the room.

“This matter is becoming increasingly more urgent as time passes,” he says. “With Yuuri-sama’s permission, I'd like to be involved in this investigation.” He looks at his nephew.

“Absolutely, Oji-san,” Yuuri replies. “Minako-sensei, Hana-neechan, you will work with my uncle?”

“Of course,” they say in unison.

Isamu nods. “Excellent. Will we be able to use this room as a briefing room of sorts tomorrow while you’re out so I can be brought up to speed?”

“I'll allow it,” Yuuri says. “Use the passages if you need secrecy. We have tea, a kettle, and mugs in here, so if you want you guys can make some.”

“I'd be more than happy to make it,” Minako says, and something in the Crown Prince’s face looks relieved. Viktor holds back a laugh. Yuuri meets his eyes, laughter playing at his lips, and as he sips his coffee, his uncle sighs.

“We’ll get through this,” he says. “I'll work on a plan of action once I have all of the information. Minako-san, Hana-san, I expect to be informed of any new developments right away. Yuuri-sama, Viktor, I ask that you both give me new information as well.”

They nod. “Oji-san,” Yuuri says, looking up at his uncle, “thank you. For this. You too, Nee-chan, Minako-sensei…”

“Of course, Yuuri-kun,” Hana says. Isamu raises an eyebrow and looks at his nephew, but does nothing else.

Yuuri meets his gaze, glances back at Hana, and explains, “Hana-neechan typically calls me by name in private, at my request. I'll address any problems I have with her personally. If I say nothing, you are to assume I'm fine with whatever she’s doing.”

Though she tries to cover it, the relief in Hana’s eyes is clear. Isamu is well within his rights to get angry about how she addresses his nephew, but Viktor has noticed that Yuuri consistently, preemptively establishes ground rules where she’s concerned.

“Understood,” Isamu says. “Was she the one who raised you?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, she was.”

Walking over to Hana, Isamu extends his hand. “Thank you for your service,” he says as she stands and shakes it. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

She bows graciously. “It’s my honor, Your Highness. Yuuri-kun was a pleasure.”

“I was a little shit and you know it,” Yuuri mutters loudly.

“You were a _kid,”_ she says. “You were having a rough time and _you_ know it. Don't go telling me you were perfectly fine.” It looks like he wants to argue, but the way she’s staring him down says she’s not having it. Yuuri nods, letting her hug him from behind.

“I'll keep you safe, okay?” Hana asks softly. “Viktor, too, we’ll all get through this.”

He nods again, and looks at his uncle. “I’ll defer to you in all matters involving… this,” he says. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Isamu looks at Yuuri. “I will, when I know what that is.”

Before everyone leaves, Yuuri hands the necklaces over to his uncle, nestled safely in the leather box they’d come in. It feels strange not to be wearing it anymore, and as Viktor brushes his fingers absently over his chest, he consoles himself with Isamu’s parting promise.

 _“This won’t last much longer,”_ he'd said to them, fiercely protective, and the fire in his eyes said he would make it so.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes to his phone buzzing constantly on the bedside table. Yuuri’s too, he sees as he glances over his fiance’s sleeping form. Grabbing his, he opens it, smiling at the wallpaper before looking at his notifications. It’s the three of them, him with Yuuri and Makkachin, taken during one of their runs in the gardens.

His phone buzzes again. Instagram is blowing up, full of pictures of the article that had come out. Twitter, too,  is going wild sharing links, snippets, and asking for his commentary. He sighs. This isn't the first time he’s been involved in something going viral, but it’s typically stayed mostly within the figure skating community or the Russian twitterverse. This is truly worldwide.

Most of the comments, surprisingly, are supportive. People from both Russia and Sachima are wishing them the best. Sachiman Twitter is full of people using a hashtag that appears to reference him being their future king-consort, and while it’s great seeing their support, he worries what that’s going to do to Takeda. If he even pays attention to social media. Phichit, apparently, has also been bombarded with questions, and he’s doing his best to field them, but there are far too many. Writing up a generic tweet thanking everyone for their support and reiterating how enjoyable the photoshoot was, he presses send and puts his phone back on his nightstand. When he rolls over, Yuuri’s looking at him sleepily with an eyebrow raised.

“Article came out today, huh?” he murmurs.

“Morning, Lyubov. And yes, it did.”

Yuuri groans. “How bad is it?”

“About what we expected.”

“Meaning we ought to just turn off notifications for… forever.”

Chuckling, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri, laying kisses all over his face until he’s giggling into his shoulder. Entwining his legs with Viktor’s, Yuuri snuggles close. “‘M tired,” he whines.

“Coffee with Lilia and Minako this morning,” Viktor says. “We should get ready.”

“Oh yeah, huh?” Rubbing his eyes, Yuuri sits up, yawning while he stretches. Yuuri showers while Viktor assembles their outfits, and gives Viktor a peck on the nose when he gets out. As he’s halfway through shaving, Viktor gets some foam on Yuuri’s nose when he returns the favor. Laughing, Yuuri wipes it off, and he’s putting in his contacts as Viktor gets into the shower. By the time Viktor is out and his hair is styled, Yuuri’s just tying his belt, moving to the mirror and putting an errant piece of hair back in place so the gel can do its job.

“You look great,” Viktor says, kissing Yuuri on the cheek.

“You coordinate great outfits,” Yuuri responds.

They finish dressing, both, at times, touching their chests where the necklaces once lay. Viktor’s just combing his hair into place when the first of the nerves hit. Last night, Lilia had been so different than the woman Viktor grew up with. Genial, friendly, he’d only seen her like that at the parties they went to, and even then it was far less pronounced. Is it because Yuuri’s family is royalty? Because she knows them so well?

A chill crawls up his back. Straightening his tie, he takes one last look at himself. It's been months since a suit wasn't everyday wear, and while he knows dressing up is a huge chunk of looking the part, he misses wearing regular jeans and a t-shirt all the time.

“You doing alright?” When Viktor looks over, Yuuri is leaning on the door jamb of the bathroom, now wearing a crown.

“Yeah,” Viktor answers. “Just… it’s Lilia.”

“Must be strange,” Yuuri says. “She sounds very different when she’s instructing.”

“She is,” Viktor replies. “Markedly.”

“Wonder how she’d treat me if I asked her to work on ballet with me.”

Setting his comb down, Viktor shrugs. “It's anyone’s guess, but I doubt it’d actually be normal.”

Quirking his mouth to the side, Yuuri frowns and nods. “I almost want to see.”

“No, you don’t,” Viktor says.

“I might,” Yuuri retorts. “People are bad at treating me like a person, it’s almost entertaining sometimes. I want to see what Madame Lilia would do.”

Laughing, Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri. “I love you,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

Scrunching his nose, Yuuri kisses Viktor’s chin. “Love you, too,” he says.

They grab their shoes and put them on on the way out. As they’re leaving, an attendant is just coming by to take Makkachin on his walk and Viktor takes a moment to pet his dog again, cooing into his ear in Russian, before standing and nodding at Yuuri. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be, and if he could get through the horrible awkwardness of the ball, he can get through an informal coffee date.

The closer they get to the parlor where they’ll be meeting Lilia and Minako, the more anxious Viktor feels. Yuuri walks beside him with a smile and a skip in his step. “It’ll be nice without Madame Lilia being all awkward,” Yuuri says.

“What sort of awkward are you talking about?”

Yuuri looks at him. “What do you mean?”

“Awkwardness like at the ball?”

“Oh, that too,” Yuuri says, “but I was talking about in Russia.”

“You really felt that awkward being treated normally by her?”

Yuuri sighs. “Madame Lilia knew who I was, almost from the start. And she knew me as a kid. And was trying really hard not to act how we both were used to her acting, and me trying not to… I mean I'd seen her a bunch as a kid and then that was the first time since I left. You have to understand by that point I was almost desperate for any sort of familiarity, too. I know it’s… It sounds…”

“Velichestvo,” Viktor murmurs, “I kind of get what you mean. You were both pretending.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri turns them down a hall. “It was weird.” They arrive at the parlor, Yuuri gesturing for the nearby footman to announce them. As the door is opened, the footman steps in.

“His Royal Majesty the King and Mr. Nikiforov.”

Minako and Lilia are each standing in front of two armchairs, both dipping into a bow as they enter. Yuuri and Viktor walk over, and Yuuri takes a seat on the couch on the other side of the low coffee table. Viktor takes his place next to Yuuri, and Minako and Lilia both sit.

“I believe,” Yuuri says before anyone else speaks, “that we would all be a bit more comfortable if we dropped all but the barest pretense. We should enjoy this. You may all speak freely.” Minako and Lilia bow their heads in thanks.

Viktor smiles, kissing his fiancé. A brief touch of their lips, it brings a smile to Yuuri’s face before Yuuri turns back to Minako and Lilia.

“Madame Lilia, I hope you’re finding your accommodations to your liking.”

“I am,” she replies. “Thank you again for hosting me.”

Yuuri nods. Lilia looks in Viktor’s direction, taking in his relaxed posture, the way his legs are crossed, and then meeting his gaze.

“You seem comfortable,” she remarks.

“Should I not?” Viktor asks. “I've been living here with Yuuri for months, now.”

Lilia looks at him curiously. “It was only a statement,” she says, “nothing more.”

As usual, Viktor doesn't quite know how to respond. A small group of attendants enter with coffee and food, laying everything out on the table before quietly leaving the room. Yuuri’s serving up before the door closes, and everyone else follows suit when they’re alone. The first sip of coffee is heaven, Viktor still tired after the excitement of yesterday. Yuuri drops a chocolate croissant on Viktor’s plate, taking some sort of fruit danish for himself. There’s a knock on the door, and then it opens, another attendant letting Makkachin off his leash and leaving when Yuuri gives a thankful, yet dismissive wave. Makka runs over to Lilia, sniffing her and begging to be pet.

“So Madame Lilia,” Yuuri says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs at the knee, “have you been doing much sightseeing?”

“I can’t say I have, Your Majesty,” she says as she scratches Makkachin’s ear, “I got in two days ago and spent much of yesterday preparing for the Ball.”

“Do you have any plans to? Vitya and I visited the Royal Botanical Gardens a while back, the summer flowers are incredible, especially from the terrace of the teahouse.” Viktor remembers the visit well. It had been filled with laughter, with selfies and photos and Makkachin taking an impromptu swim with some ducks. The tea, made from plants grown in the gardens themselves, had been excellent, and from the private terrace reserved for the Royal Family, the view was truly breathtaking. Yuuri had told stories from childhood visits, they’d shared kisses, let the palace’s official photographer snap pictures as they walked around. It had been a wonderful afternoon.

“I'll keep that in mind, Sire,” Lilia says, sipping her coffee, “it’s been many years since I’ve been to the Botanical Gardens. I believe the last time I was there was before you left.”

“It was,” Minako says. “You’ll recall Their Royal Majesties’ garden party held there?”

“Of course,” Lilia responds. “Absolutely wonderful. I believe it was His Majesty’s first public speech, as well.”

“I don’t even remember what I said,” Yuuri mutters.

“How old were you?” Viktor asks. Yuuri looks at Minako for the answer, and she smiles, setting her cup on its saucer.

“You were seven, Sire,” she answers. “It was late spring, and you helped welcome everyone to the party. You talked about how you had fond memories of the gardens, and how you thought they were good for everyone to be able to visit. Your father discontinued admission fees after that, opening them to the public most days of the year.”

“That was nice of him,” Yuuri says.

“The public agreed,” Minako replies. “It won him some popularity, though that was quickly erased by conservative press after he signed the tax laws they didn’t like.”

Yuuri nods, taking a bite out of the biscotti he’d just dipped into his coffee. “Those were the laws that almost got me killed, right?” he asks casually.

Viktor feels the punch to the gut at the same time Lilia’s eyes widen. It seems she’s not entirely aware of the circumstances behind which Yuuri left the country. The death of Yuuri’s bodyguard had been ‘officially’ caused by medical issues, rather than murder, Yuuri had said when Viktor had asked. He’s said repeatedly he holds no ill will towards his father for passing the laws, that they were beneficial to the people and something Yuuri himself would consider signing even now, but it goes to show how tenuous the game is. Viktor takes a sip of his coffee.

“We believe they were,” Minako says, “as after that we started uncovering the plots to go after the Royal Family, and you, specifically.”

“Someone actually tried to kill you, Your Majesty? I was under the impression that your absence was merely a preventative measure.” Lilia says.

Yuuri nods. “No, they tried to actually assassinate me, and almost succeeded. That’s why it was so important for me to keep my cover in Russia,” he says. “It could have been life-or-death, and we knew people were already willing to do the job. It’s why I couldn’t let you tell Vitya, too.”

“I see.” Lilia is the type of person to insist on honesty, both from herself and others. It’s one of the things Viktor’s always admired about her, though not to the extent she insists on giving her opinions. Nor does he admire the brutal manner in which she does. It’s one thing during training and practice, when he’s counting on her (and _paying_ her) to correct his form in order to improve. It’s another when he walks into the rink with a new haircut and the first thing out of her mouth is the word ‘disgusting’ before she even asks why he bothered.

There must have been some discomfort for her regarding the scope of Yuuri’s secret and the fact that she was obligated to keep it. Smiling, mostly to himself, Viktor sips his coffee. Leaning forward to grab a donut, Yuuri shifts closer to Viktor, pressing their legs together.

“I don’t believe I’ve properly offered my condolences for your esteemed father’s passing, Your Majesty,” Lilia says to Yuuri. “He was a good man, and a good king.”

After a moment, Yuuri nods. “Thank you.” Lilia turns her attention to Viktor, asking about his time here, his practices with Minako. His answers run on the polite side, for the most part, with a smile he can tell she suspects is fake. At the very least, he’s not being openly antagonistic. She’s still being nicer than he expected, though the posturing from the ball is mostly forgotten. Again, Lilia congratulates him on his wins this last season, reminds Viktor to let her know immediately once he decides whether or not he’s competing.

In all honesty, he’s not sure he wants to. The way Lilia keeps pushing, eager to get her prized skater back, the way Yakov all but ignores the odd text Viktor sends… Years spent training with them and all they seem to see is the prestige he brings. Sure, she goes on about how happy he looks, how well Makkachin seems to be doing here, but he can’t trust a word of it beyond that she’s glad he’s not doing _badly._

Maddeningly unreadable, Lilia seems much the same as she usually is under a veneer of friendliness and some sort of affection. Viktor almost feels guilty putting on his public persona for her, but if she’d wanted a genuine, caring relationship she should have acted like it to begin with. He listens as she brags about her dancers, chimes in occasion when she talks about her time as his instructor, and reminds himself to kiss Yuuri properly when they have a moment, in thanks for his stalwart support.

 

~*~

 

“Your Majesty,” Hana says as they’re winding down for bed that night, “if I could beg a moment of your time?”

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, setting his laptop to the side. Hana enters, closing the door behind her.

Instead of answering, she opens up the secret room, gesturing for them to follow. They do, and when the door is closed behind them she looks at Yuuri, concern plain on her face.

“Yuuri-kun, I went in to talk to the security team, and while I was there I went through the work history. Viktor's order was in there, but the first time it was run was just after your first call to see what was going on.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes. “You mean they lied to me? They said it had been run once already.”

Hana shakes her head. “No. It took some digging, but the first job that had a completion date didn't have a start date. Somehow the completion date and results were entered manually. Since only the completion date shows up unless you go into the file, they likely saw that and figured it was legitimate.”

“And what were the results?”

“Inconclusive,” she says. “As well as six of the other seven attempts. The last one was cleared pending approval from the Head of Security, who was en route to Hasetsu when it was decided you needed to come straight to the palace. I checked the login information of the person who ran all of them and found the employee information was fabricated.”

“That's not suspicious at all,” Yuuri bites. “Do you think that has anything to do with Takeda?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “My mom worked on the security team a bit. Not at the highest clearance, but she worked there. I can ask her to do some looking.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No. I don't want to pull anyone else into this.”

“I understand,” she says. “We’ll wait on that until we have more information. Should I relay this to your uncle somehow?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “See what he says and we can go from there.”

Hana nods. “I'll ask Minako-sensei to do it. She can approach him more easily than I can.”

“Ok,” Yuuri sighs, falling onto the couch. “Fuck, I hate this.” Viktor sits next to him, wrapping him up in a hug. When Yuuri puts his arms around Viktor’s waist Viktor feels a lump forming in his throat. This is bigger now than just a nobleman’s threat. Bigger, now, because of some unidentifiable person’s blatant attempts to keep Viktor in the dark, possibly to drive him away, even before he’d arrived.

He’s not wanted.

He could be killed for staying.

A sudden spike of terror has him clinging to the back of Yuuri’s shirt, burying his face in the crook of his fiancé’s neck as he fights back tears, fights to keep his breath steady and his heart rate down, fights to avoid cluing Yuuri in to how bad he’s feeling but he fails. Long fingers carding through Viktor’s hair, Yuuri kisses the side of his head.

“Vityusha,” he says, “I… I’m sorry.”

“Stop _apologizing,”_ Viktor snaps. “Just. _Stop._ Yuuri, I… I chose you. Even after you told me this could happen. I chose _you,_ Yuuri, and this comes with it. I _knew_ this could happen and I _still chose you,_ so _please.”_

Nodding against Viktor’s temple, Yuuri pulls him closer. “This must be awful,” he whispers.

“It is,” Viktor whispers in return. “Yuuri, this is terrifying.”

“I know.” Absolute surety in his voice, Yuuri kisses Viktor's cheek. There’s no question he knows the feeling. Not in Viktor’s mind. Not after the nightmares, the panic, the fear that drove Yuuri to insist on full-time bodyguards from the first sign of trouble. The same fear that has him constantly on edge now, trusting only a few people in his life. Holding onto his fiancé, Viktor does his best to breathe, does his best to calm down. They’re not alone in this, he knows. Hana and Minako, Isamu and Hiroko and Mari— everyone is working as hard as they can to get to the bottom of things, and they’re getting closer.

It’s clear, now, that Takeda’s warning isn’t independent. It’s clear that there’s something bigger going on, and that someone in the security team was or is working against them. It’s clear there’s a small, vocal section of the nobility that has the power to prevent things happening if they don’t want them. The main thing to do now, is get to Russia so Isamu has space to work without worrying, and to figure out what, exactly, is going on and how to put a stop to it. Once they can do that and eliminate the threat, then just maybe they’ll be able to find a new normal. Maybe they’ll be able to be a couple properly, maybe Viktor will be able to invite his family to visit. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Viktor nods when Yuuri asks if he wants to go to bed, brushes his teeth and changes his clothing robotically before they crawl into bed. Yuuri holds him. He holds Yuuri. Makka curls up at their feet and Viktor goes to sleep feeling less safe than he ever has before.

 

Not four hours later, Viktor’s awake and he wanders into the sitting room to see Yuuri standing near Hana, blearily rubbing his eyes. “Vityusha,” he murmurs when he sees Viktor, gravitating over and wrapping his arms around him. Viktor rubs his back.

“What are you doing up, Lyubov?” he asks.

“Mmmmm. Nightmare, couldn’t sleep,” Yuuri says, before spying the teapot on the table. Looking at Hana, he asks, “may I have some?” gesturing towards the pot. Hana gives a nod, and Yuuri walks over to make himself tea.

“Yuuri-kun, it might be cold by now,” she says just as he reaches for it. He shrugs. Pouring himself a cup, he adds sugar and milk, smiling as he takes a long sip.

“Vitya,” Hana says, looking at him, “did we wake you?”

Shaking his head, Viktor looks back at Yuuri. “No, the bed got cold.”

Yuuri blushes as he meets Viktor’s eyes, taking another sip. Moving to the couch, he sits heavily, exhaustion weighing on him. Viktor opts out of the cold tea and starts making some fresh, only to be interrupted in the middle by Yuuri asking for a cup of the hot. When he offers one to Hana she accepts as well, and he walks back to the couch with three steaming mugs. Happy, Yuuri pulls his knees to his chin and yawns before blowing carefully over the rim of his mug.

“What was it this time?” Viktor asks. Yuuri only shudders in response, shaking his head ‘no.’ Hana leans over to kiss Yuuri’s forehead, and he gives her a wan smile.

“You don't have to talk if you don't want to,” she says.

Relieved, Yuuri takes another long sip before frowning. Slowly, he goes to stand, holding his mug out for Viktor to take.

“Lyubov?” Setting the mugs on the coffee table, he watches as Yuuri takes a few unsteady steps towards the bedroom.

“I’m not feeling so great,” Yuuri mumbles. As he turns around, Viktor sees his eyes are alarmingly glassy, out of focus, and Yuuri lists dangerously to the right as he staggers to a nearby table. He lands heavily against it, his knees collapsing abruptly, his arm knocks a vase to the ground, shattering it and spilling water all over the wall and carpet, the flowers now strewn across the floor. Sagging against the table Yuuri looks up, makes eye contact, and a small smile comes over his face before he falls unconscious, laying sprawled out face-down on the floor.

Viktor and Hana race over, Hana turning him on his back and putting to fingers against his neck. She looks at Viktor. “He’s alive. Breathing,” she says. “Fast asleep, though.”

Viktor looks at her. “Do you think the tea is drugged?”

“I can’t think of what else it would have been.” She looks back at Yuuri. “We need to get him into bed. Someone probably heard the crash and is going to come to see what happened. I’ll likely end up having to go file a report, breaking something like this is…” She sighs. “Let’s get him in bed and try to clean up. I’ll call Minako once I finish explaining the vase if they don't fire me on the spot.”

Nodding, Viktor lifts Yuuri’s shoulders until he can get one arm under Yuuri’s back. Hana lifts his legs so Viktor can grab him under the knees, and then helps him lift Yuuri until they’re standing. Despite his now-aching knees, it’s a simple matter for Viktor to get Yuuri into the bedroom, Hana keeping an eye on him for any changes in condition. Once he’s tucked in, Yuuri’s head lolls against the pillows as he sleeps soundly.

There’s a severe knock on the door, and Hana and Viktor go to answer it. Hana looks anxious as she pulls the door open, and an aide to the Director of the Household walks in, looking around until they see the vase on the floor. They turn on Hana.

“It would do you well to explain how this happened,” he says to her, but before she can speak, Viktor clears his throat.

“I'm afraid it’s my doing,” he says, smiling. “I just woke up, it took me a while to find my balance and I tripped! Sorry!”

The man looks at the shards of china, then back at Viktor’s face, bowing at the waist. “Of course, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“I'd be more than happy to pay for it!” He’s a bit too cheerful, but this person doesn't know him well enough to see through him, nor are they going to risk problems with Yuuri’s boyfriend. Even if they _do_ insist he pays, he has the money. Hana doesn’t. He can see the relief in her eyes as the man bows.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Nikiforov,” he says. “I will have someone come up to clean.”

“Please ensure they can do so quietly,” Viktor says. “His Royal Majesty is sleeping.”

With another glance at the floor, the aide nods. “Of course, sir.” He bows at the neck, before leaving the room.

Hana sighs with relief. “Thank you,” she says. “That thing cost millions.”

“Of course,” he says. “They aren't going to get angry with me, not about that, and I could have paid for it if they wanted.”

“It cost _millions,”_ Hana reiterates.

Millions that Viktor has stored in the bank. He’s not careless with his money. He looks at her. “I know,” he says.

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.”

An attendant arrives with cleaning supplies, making short work of the vase while Viktor and Hana make a show of chatting amiably until a they’re alone again. The bedroom door, closed as it is, looms ominous before them, Yuuri drugged asleep inside. Moving across the floor, Viktor can't stop himself going back in, hoping to see his fiancé blinking awake. No such luck. Yuuri hasn’t moved in the minutes he’s been gone, and Viktor grabs his phone and walks out again.

“We need to call the Crown Prince,” he says. Pulling up Mari’s contact information, he forgoes texting in favor of a direct call. When she answers the phone, she’s clearly been woken out of a sound slumber.

“What?” she asks in lieu of a greeting.

“I need you and your uncle to come help me with something.”

“Right now?” she asks. Viktor can _hear_ her rubbing her face as she sits up.

“Yes, immediately.”

“My uncle specifically?”

“Yes,” Viktor says.

“Are you in your bedroom?” she asks as there's a shuffling on the other end.

“I am, with Hana.”

“And this is…”

“Urgent, Mari. Please.”

“Okay, okay, we'll be there in a bit.” She hangs up without a goodbye, and Viktor shrugs, putting his phone in his pocket.

“Should we try ordering more coffee?” he asks Hana. She shrugs.

“We can, but I'd want to test it before anyone drank some. The tea I’d gotten at first was fine, but there were three attendants in during that time who could have slipped something in. My mother dropped by, she might have seen something on her way in or out.”

It's easy enough to put a request in for coffee and some food. The coffee arrives before Mari and Isamu do, and Hana’s just testing it when they walk through the door. Hana bows when she sees them, and Mari frowns looking at the test strips in her hand.

“What’s going on?” Mari asks Viktor.

“She’s checking for drugs.”

“What?!” Mari looks back at the coffee. “Where’s my brother?”

Instead of answering, Viktor waves her and Isamu over to the bedroom door, opening it. “He’s asleep,” Viktor says, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Drugged.”

Isamu looks at him. “You're sure?”

“I literally saw him drop like a bag of bricks after drinking tea, yes I'm sure.” Tired, worried, Viktor has little patience for verbal acrobatics but luckily, the Prince seems to understand.

“Well, shit,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I'm going to have to cover until he wakes up, we’ll tell people it’s a severe summer cold, or allergies. He hasn't been home long, he’s not used to our pollens.”

“I'm calling our mother,” Mari says. Isamu nods, waving her off.

Moving to sit next to his nephew, he brushes the hair out of his eyes, adjusts his blanket like it's a long-forgotten memory. “We’d never wanted it to happen like this,” he says. Though Isamu is still looking at Yuuri, Viktor knows he's the one being addressed. “He was supposed to come back after a year, maybe two at most. He wasn’t supposed to spend his entire childhood and adolescence in terrified isolation.”

Regret, grief, some anger. Isamu’s voice lays him unusually bare as he cups his sleeping nephew’s face. “This ends now,” Isamu says. “You two should have been able to spend time together, get used to things without this sort of shit in the background. He should have felt _safe_ when he came home.” Looking up, he has a dangerous glint in his eyes, a determination so breathtakingly similar to his nephew’s Viktor could never doubt their relation. “Takeda still thinks I’m on friendly terms with him. I’ll keep him distracted, keep him placated while we find what we need to take him down. I know who his close acquaintances are, and… I think we can do this. They’ve lost a lot of power over the last few decades, this seems like the final, desperate attempt of a condemned man.”

“You have my support, Sir,” Hana says from behind them. “Whatever it takes, I’m ready.”

“This will be dangerous,” Isamu warns.

“So was going on the run to protect a terrified yet very recognizable child, Sir. With all due respect, as both a member of the Guard and Yuuri-kun’s adopted older sister, I am more than prepared.” Though it appears he’d forgotten just how close Hana is to Yuuri, he doesn’t protest in the least, instead nodding.

“You’re going to Russia with him, are you not?”

“I am, Sir,” she responds. “I’ll be at his side as much as I’m able.”

“I personally am going to assign you as his guard, then, to ensure you can stay with him,” Isamu says. “I’ll make sure they think I’m doing so, and adding the extra security, out of nerves or something, like I’m jumpy even though he’s home. I can justify seemingly being overprotective that way, especially if Yuuri-sama and I can stage some sort of argument wherein I have to ‘convince’ him.”

“They’ll let you do that?” Viktor blurts. Everyone looks at him. “I mean… arguing with Yuuri in front of people, isn't that… frowned upon, at the very least?”

“I’ve been Crown Prince in all but name while Yuuri-sama’s been gone,” Isamu says patiently, “and I’m his uncle. Hiroko-san and I can get away with being a bit bossy, we’re the older adults in his life closest to him in rank. Hiroko-san is his mother. Neither she nor I have any legal power over him, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing for me to treat him like he’s my nephew if I don't undermine him publically. I have more experience here as well and everyone knows it. I can get away with certain things, just like you can.”

There’s a truth to his statement Viktor hadn’t entirely realized until now. He’d known he has some sort of influence, a certain level of untouchability by virtue of his relationship, but looking back, he can see it more clearly. The way he talks to Yuuri in front of his family, the ease with which he’d lied to keep Hana out of trouble, knowing he himself was likely to escape relatively unscathed.

Not to mention he literally just summoned the Princess and Crown Prince to his bedroom at three in the morning with no explanation.

Sighing, Isamu pulls the covers around Yuuri again, kisses his forehead much like Viktor assumes he did when he was a child. He stands, taking a look around the bedroom before walking out. Following closely behind, Viktor and Hana are just inside the secret room when she looks back at the bedroom door.

“I don't like this,” she says. Turning to address those in the room, she bows. “I'd like to stay with him,” she says. “I apologize if that isn't amenable to anyone, but I feel uneasy leaving His—”

“Hana-chan,” Mari says, “you've kept him safe this long. You're… more of an older sister to him than I am, in a lot of ways. You've been his family for most of his life, now.”

Hana looks taken off-guard, bowing deeply to the Princess. “Your Highness,” she says, “I don't mean to be—”

“What I'm saying,” Mari interrupts, “is that you're family to Yuuri, and by now you're pretty much family to us, too. We'll gladly take your input into consideration, about this and most other matters involving Yuuri.”

There’s a long moment where they look at each other. It’s been a struggle for Mari especially, these last months, to adapt to Yuuri’s closeness to his bodyguard, and his distance from herself. Yuuri is far more at ease around Hana even now, calls her his big sister unless they’re in public. She knows his quirks, his habits, when he needs to talk something out, and when he needs a distraction. Of all the people in this room, Hana knows Yuuri the best, and Mari seems to have let go of whatever resentment she carried.

They share an understanding smile. “You know,” Hana says, “you never _stopped_ being his big sister. You never will.”

“Neither will you,” Mari responds. She looks at Viktor. “Will you fetch him?”

He nods. Walking out into the sitting room, he says silent thanks that he’s getting Yuuri out of bed instead of straight off the floor. Exactly as he’d been left, Yuuri sleeps soundly buried in his blankets. Viktor throws them back, but there are none of Yuuri's usual responses. He doesn't curl up, doesn’t reach out, doesn't so much as make a noise. It's eerie, if Viktor’s being honest. Swallowing, he takes his fiancé carefully into his arms, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before picking him up.

“You love him.” Isamu’s standing near the door, holding it open.

“Is that a question?”

Shaking his head, Isamu smiles and gestures at the door. “You’d have been on the first flight back to Russia by now, I'm sure, if you didn't. Yuuri-sama gave you plenty of time to back out gracefully. He wouldn't have let you lose face, and he wouldn't have let you go into this unprepared. You're good for each other.”

Viktor nods in thanks and agreement as he walks over, making sure Yuuri’s head goes through the door first. Isamu closes the door behind him, crossing the room quickly to hold open the other door. Grateful for the open floor plan, Viktor walks straight to the door, feeding Yuuri’s head through carefully. Able to get Yuuri to the bed without too much trouble, he lets Hana pull the blankets back, lays Yuuri gently on the bed. Tucking him in, Hana smiles fondly at him, running her fingers gently through his hair.

There’s still no response from his beloved and his stomach sinks to the floor. Hiroko enters shortly, Mari must have explained what was going on because she makes a beeline for the bed. Isamu pulls up an armchair for her, and she sits and takes Yuuri’s hand while she listens in.

“Hana,” Viktor says in a moment of realization, “didn't you fall asleep the night before the ball?” She’d been strangely unresponsive at the time, and while Yuuri had chalked it up to exhaustion, his comment about it being unusual hadn’t sit right with Viktor.

“I did,” she says.

“Yuuri said it was highly unusual.”

Hana nods. “I'll look into staff that handled my requests both nights. This is… unprecedented.”

The pit in his stomach has turned to ice, and Viktor looks at her. “You said your mother visited both nights as well?”

He sees understanding bloom on her face in the form of disbelief. “She was in my sight the entire time,” she says. “Both times she couldn't have stayed more than five minutes, ten tops.”

“She brought you food once, right?”

“Several times, on several different nights where nothing happened,” Hana says. “She’d drop something off, I'd eat, she’d come by later to pick up the dishes.”

“And she visited you today?”

Hana nods. “Almost broke the teapot, it slipped when she handed it to me as I was making a fresh pot. Other than that, we just sat down to chat. I could see her every move, she had no _time_ to do anything.”

“Okay,” Isamu says. “We need to check out the staff, and we need to be especially wary of people in direct contact with Takeda. Hana-san, I want you to memorize the names and faces of his associates, and contact me directly if you see any of them in Russia.” She nods.

“Oji-san,” Mari says, “do you think Russia will be safe?”

“Safer than here,” he responds. “Trying something could cause an international incident. I'll keep an eye on Takeda, I'll let you know if he or anyone he associates with leaves the country.”

“Myself as well, Sir?” Hana asks.

Isamu nods. “I will need a way to contact you privately with updates. The only person I want my nephew left alone with is Viktor, anyone else— he needs a guard, if not several. The same goes for Viktor. Guards at all times.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Quiet, yet almost livid, Hiroko’s voice still echoes through the room, and everyone turns to her. If Viktor wasn’t scared of her before, he is now. There’s no question she would move heaven and earth to keep her son safe, and after this long, Viktor’s not surprised.

“Of course, Hiroko,” Isamu says. “Absolutely. I’ll contact everyone later tonight to discuss plans, after I’ve had time to think, and hopefully by then Yuuri-sama will be awake. I’ll fill in for him today, deal with what obligations I can and tell everyone he’s ill. Viktor, I want you staying here, tell people you’re worried about him and want to be there when he wakes up.” Viktor nods. It’s not like it would be a _lie._ “Hana-san, as you’re my nephew’s guard, you stay here as well. I want to know the instant he wakes up.” Viktor and Hana nod in unison. “Mari-chan, you come with me. You’re going to be Crown Princess and should see what to do when the monarch is suddenly indisposed.”

“Yes, Oji-san,” Mari responds. “Full court wear?”

Isamu nods. “Hiroko, feel free to play the part of fretting mother for now. We’ll meet for tea this afternoon, in Yuuri-sama’s sitting room if he’s awake, and run through ideas.”

Viktor nods with everyone else, looking at his fiancé. Though he looks at peace, it’s unsettling, and later, once Viktor’s gotten him back into his bed and is changed and under the blankets next to Yuuri’s unconscious form, he pulls Yuuri close and does his best not to cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**All these questions,** they're for real  
>  Who would you live for? Who would you die for?_  
> -twenty one pilots, Ride
> 
> So I'll be maintaining the monthly posting schedule indefinitely, but you can count on an update to All This And Heaven, Too in two weeks!
> 
> Thanks to Riki for the incredible art!! They captured the feeling of the scene so well and I'm absolutely in love with it!!!


	14. An Instinct That Never Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor finally (finally!) gets to give Yuuri a taste of his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** anxiety attack, implied violence, blood
> 
> Chapter title from [Ignite by Zedd.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zasx9hjo4WY) [(Lyrics Video)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rZXYsDwx8Y)

For the third time in the last hour, Yuuri drops the weights he’s using, letting himself fall onto a nearby bench. Leaning forward, he’s almost doubled over as he rests his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, with his face screwed up in a grimace.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice echoing in the empty gym. Yuuri, still anxious, had ordered time for them to use the building in private after he’d woken up, as he was feeling too unsteady to dance and leaving the Palace grounds, even just to go to the rink, is ill-advised at best at the moment. Rubbing his temples, Yuuri sighs.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go.” He’s going to injure himself if he keeps trying to exercise the anxiety away while still reeling from the effects of whatever it was he’d been drugged with.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri says. He’s not; he’s been like this since he’d woken up in the early afternoon, groggy and nauseous and feeling altogether horrible. Instead of taking it easy like Hana’d told him to, he’d resorted to this and Viktor, not one to just let his fiancé wander off when he’s being dangerously stubborn, had followed. He had to work out anyway, he told Yuuri, and despite a scowl Yuuri hadn’t made any further commentary. Viktor probably should have done more to persuade him to stop.

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Viktor points out. “I’ve exercised enough to make myself puke before, I know the look.”

Pitiful though he looks, Yuuri manages to make eye contact. “You’re usually so careful.”

“I learned my lesson the hard way,” Viktor says. “Let’s go, you’re just going to hurt yourself.”

“I can do this, Vitya,” Yuuri retorts. “I’ll be alright, it’s fine. I’ll lower the amount of weight again if it’ll make you happy.”

“My career is only where it’s at because I know what exercising safely looks like,” he responds coolly, “and this isn’t it. We can leave together, or I can carry you to the locker room and call Hana and Mari. Your choice.”

“If you can catch me. I have more stamina,” Yuuri says.

“You have a desk job,” Viktor replies, and he knows the workouts Yuuri does throughout the week fail to match the extensive amount of training involved in figure skating at Viktor’s level. They both know who’d win. “Do I need to carry you, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, stepping towards his fiancé and hooking his fingers under Yuuri’s chin, lifting his face.

Mouth gaping, Yuuri looks at him like he’d just ordered Yuuri to go to his room. Viktor raises an eyebrow, leaning further forward, all the while giving Yuuri a look that says he wouldn’t hesitate to carry him across the length of the Palace Grounds if needed. He’s not going to let Yuuri push himself too hard. Not with this. Viktor goes for a gentler approach. “Lyubov, I can see how bad you feel, and I know exercise helps with your anxiety, but it’s not safe. We don’t know how your body will handle what’s left of the drugs in your system, especially not with physical activity like this. Let’s go to our rooms, have some tea, get some snacks brought up.”

With a sigh, Yuuri nods, taking Viktor’s outstretched hand and pulling himself to standing. It takes some effort to put the weights back and he almost forgets his water bottle, but they make it to the locker room alright. Sharing a shower has them sharing kisses as well, hurried though they are, but as they walk back, arms around each others’ waists, Yuuri leans heavily on Viktor for support. The July sun beats down on them, and as early in the month as it is the heat is almost unforgiving as they walk. Yuuri does his best, though, despite the sweat gathering on his forehead, refusing several offers by groundskeepers to fetch a golf cart for the rest of the journey. They go through a side entrance, one directly to the basement of the residential wing and, more importantly, near the elevator. The few attendants and guards they pass make no comment about their embrace, instead merely bowing their heads in greeting, and Yuuri asks for fruit to be brought to their room. 

The attendant he pulls aside responds with the standard: a smile, a bow, an “if it pleases you, Your Majesty,” and not much else before briskly heading off. The sigh Yuuri lets out is almost lonely, his shoulders droop as he leans on Viktor the rest of the way to their rooms. Viktor dumps him into an armchair. While it reduces their ability to cuddle while they drink their tea, it certainly helps Yuuri with maintaining good posture when the staff comes in with a pot of tea and cups. They confirm the dinner menu with Yuuri and Viktor, making minor adjustments as requested, and leave the room as quickly as they’d come in. Sighing, Yuuri crosses his legs, rests his saucer on his knee, and sips the tea as they wait for Isamu and Minako to be done with their duties so they can bring Yuuri up to speed again.

Isamu’d all but forbade Yuuri to go into the office today or work at all, yes, but Yuuri had ordered that he be kept on top of things, and Isamu had no real argument.  _ The King not being at work does not mean he does not still rule, _ Yuuri had pointed out with a certain sort of expectation in his voice. His uncle had agreed to a second briefing before dinner, earning a satisfied nod from Yuuri, and will be compiling a summary of the day’s activities and his observations about the government officials and members of the court still on the premises, Takeda included.

 

~*~

 

“Your Majesty, please, I beg you to consider what I’m saying.” Isamu’s laying it on thick, playing the part of ‘Unreasonably Overprotective Uncle’ better than Viktor had expected. Viktor’s legs are still feeling the effects of the practice he’d just come back from, and he rolls his neck as he walks. 

“I don’t see why extra security is required,” Yuuri says, loud enough for Viktor to hear it in the hall. The office staff outside snap to attention as Viktor walks over. He gives them a nod, and one bows, gesturing at the cracked-open door. 

“I would just feel better,” Isamu is saying when Viktor walks in, “and so would your mother.” The few assistants Yuuri has are standing along the wall at attention, watching the exchange with wide eyes. They nod in unison in Viktor’s direction as he closes the door behind him.

“If my mother feels this way,” Yuuri says, “why is it she hasn’t come to me herself?”

“Your Majesty, she doesn’t wish to appear overbearing. We’ve just welcomed you home, she doesn’t want you to resent her for trying to control you.” Sighing, Isamu turns to the window. “Sire… we have spent so long hoping for your safe return, and now that you’re home, seeing you leave again… I can’t stress how much it pains us to see you go, and how worried we will be until you are safely home once more. Please, in consideration of your mother’s feelings, and those of your dear uncle, allow extra security to accompany you on your upcoming trip to Russia.”

“This is a huge last-minute change.” Leaning back in his chair, Yuuri crosses his legs and then his fingers on top of them, leveling a steady gaze in Isamu’s direction. “It’s also highly unusual, Your Highness, but if it would ease the minds of both yourself and my mother, I will allow this.”

Isamu bows. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you’ve been so gracious. I will take care of this right away, in order to allow as much preparation time as possible.”

Nodding, Yuuri smiles, playing the part of benevolent ruler well. “I hope it helps ease your worries during my time abroad.”

“It will,” Isamu says. “I will have the head of your security team put together a group of those of higher ranks who have provided exemplary service in their time in the Royal Guard. I will permit nothing less.”

“Of course, Oji-san.”

 

“How are you feeling?” Viktor asks once they’re alone. Yuuri plops down in his desk chair.

“Tired, strangely enough. You’d think the ten hours I got yesterday, and then sleeping again last night would be enough.” Taking off his crown, he sets it aside and rubs his temples. Whatever it was he was drugged with has left him with a mild headache, and Viktor takes the liberty of leaning over and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“You're almost done for today,” Viktor says. “Recovery time from illness is important! We can spend the afternoon in our rooms, if you like.”

Yuuri smiles. “Minako-sensei is going to need to talk with us and my uncle and sister later about the ceremony? The Transfer and Bestowing of Title, or whatever name they’ve come up with for it. But other than that, a lazy day sounds nice.” Viktor’d nearly forgotten about the upcoming ceremony. It had been deemed best to continue as planned, and Yuuri’d mentioned something about making his uncle Grand Duke in honor of his service as Crown Prince, both in Yuuri’s stead and as his right hand. 

Both of them are expected to attend, though Yuuri will be doing much of the talking and the ceremony itself isn't supposed to last very long. Viktor’s primary function is to be there and look good as he sits with the Royal Family. Being Yuuri’s boyfriend means him  _ helping _ with the ceremony, carrying the circlet Mari will be wearing or the like, is considered well below him, but his standing isn't good enough that he could actively participate by making speeches or the like. Not that his Japanese is good enough yet, but he’s trying. 

What nobility is left in Hasetsu, Takeda included, will be there to honor the occasion. It’s nerve-wracking in its own way, with a few more days of Takeda’s presence on palace grounds. He’s leaving promptly after the ceremony concludes and Viktor can't wait to be rid of him, already looking forward to seeing him off. 

 

~*~

 

Makkachin’s hair rustles in the breeze as he lays curled up on the velvet dog bed. Tea in the gazebo in the private gardens tends to be far less comfortable for him unless something soft is there upon which he can lay. Yuuri’s asked the staff bring the dog bed out on the rare occasion he and Viktor take their tea outdoors, and ever since Makkachin’s been much happier to accompany them. He looks content, lying as he is in the sun, and Viktor smiles as he finishes his tea. The sound of a camera shutter wakes him from his daydreaming, and when he looks over Yuuri’s a bright red, holding his phone guiltily.

“Did you just—” Viktor starts.

“I didn’t know the sound was still on,” Yuuri says, steadily growing redder.

“You took a picture.” Viktor gestures at the phone still in Yuuri’s hands, likely still displaying the camera app.

“You looked so at peace,” Yuuri replies. “And almost goofy-happy about your dog snoozing away over there. It was cute.” Still blushing, he finishes his tea. When they head in, Yuuri takes a moment to stack the dishes neatly before offering his arm. They’re to meet Isamu and Minako to discuss their trip to St. Petersburg, and are doing so in Yuuri’s bedroom. Officially, Yuuri is claiming lasting effects from his illness, and as far as Viktor knows no one’s questioned him. 

Not that anyone  _ would. _

With the stakes this high, Yuuri having the kind of position he does is a double-edged sword; the convenience of authority coupled with the careful masks nearly everybody wears in his presence— or in the presence of those close to him, Viktor included. It makes it remarkably hard to figure out who they can and can’t trust, and to what extent. 

Isamu spends the meeting explaining what sort of staff will be accompanying them, and why, as well as the few events they’ll be going to. As Russia is planning a State Visit for Yuuri in a year or so,  _ this _ visit will mostly be sightseeing and a few appearances. Viktor will be going to the rink some, for them to film pieces for the sports networks, to discuss his routine ideas with Yakov in case he decides to come back. He's excited to see Yuri as well, looking forward to seeing what he’s done with Agape in the weeks since he left Hasetsu. 

They go over security procedures. Rendezvous points in case something happens, how they’ll surveil Viktor’s apartment while he packs up what he wants to bring with him. Yuuri’s been cleared to stay there with him for one night, and they’ll go to the rink the next day so Yuuri can skate and meet the rest of Viktor’s rinkmates. Aside from a few visits to a school and a hospital or two, and, somehow, attendance at the party Lilia’s friend throws every year that’ll be towards the end of their stay, much of their plans are touristy. They’ll be visiting the Hermitage and the Winter Palace, taking a ride along the Neva on a private boat. They’ll be going to museums and art galleries, the ballet and the opera, and Viktor has a few plans to show Yuuri his favorite places, including the park at which Makkachin had finally learned to fetch. It’s by no means what Viktor had originally envisioned as Yuuri’s introduction to his home, but it’s better than nothing.

Once that’s all taken care of, Isamu moves on to his thoughts about how to handle the threats. 

“I've told my wife what’s going on,” he says, “and she’s done some digging on her own.”

“You did  _ what?” _ Yuuri asks. 

“I believe you said you would defer to me in these matters?” Isamu reminds Yuuri, who nods in return. “As I was saying, your aunt has been doing some digging, Yuuri-sama, in the old private forums we had for staff when you were a child. One of her hobbies, aside from following figure skating, is cryptography, and she found a few threads that have her concerned. Some abruptly ending at or around times we shut down plots. One that got more and more fervent, had longer and more detailed posts leading up to the day of the attempt that almost killed you, with what seemed like filler posts after the attempt. She’ll be going through these to see if there’s some sort of code she can find and, hopefully, break.”

Yuuri nods. “So what do Vitya and I do? Are we at risk in Russia?”

“I don’t know,” Isamu says with a grave expression. “We’ve researched all of the staff we have going. Stylists, wardrobe, assistants, guards, the chef— everyone’s been thoroughly checked out. None of them have any suspicious activity we can see. At the same time, we don’t know if there’s someone in Russia working with Takeda already. We think it’s highly unlikely, given how xenophobic the man is to begin with, but he’s also  _ determined. _ And that’s the issue. I  _ can _ say that unless they find some way to swing it, an attack on one or both of you in Russia could very well cause an international incident. Though unlikely, it has the possibility of war if people take it too far. To try something on Russian soil would be risky at best.”

Nodding, Yuuri reaches across the table and grabs the staff list, looking it over. Viktor reads over his shoulder, idly petting Makkachin’s head as it rests on his knee. Aside from Hana, Yulian, Chef Elena, and one of the stylists that normally handle their day-to-day appearances, there aren't any names Viktor recognizes. When he’s done, Yuuri gestures towards Viktor with the paper and raised eyebrows, Viktor waves it off, and it’s set back in front of Isamu.

“So if you get your evidence before our return, will you expose it immediately?” Viktor asks. 

Isamu nods. “Once I have a plan of action, you and your guard will be put on high alert and we will expose the plot and those involved, make the necessary arrests, and bring you both home.”

“Oji-san,” Yuuri says, frowning, “why is it you’re so sure exposing everything to the public will work in our favor?”

Looking at Yuuri, Isamu leans back in his chair. “When you left there was a lot of pushback against the Royal Family, and the government as a whole. Much of the population came up with theories about where you’d gone,  _ why _ you’d gone, and what happened to your bodyguard. A lot of people didn’t buy the palace’s story about your bodyguard’s death being ‘sudden but natural’. People were upset you’d been sent away at such a young age, upset about the Palace’s close-lipped responses when they asked about you, upset enough, at times, to demand answers we were unable to give.”

“They were that angry?”

“They thought we should have kept you here.”

Yuuri only nods. Viktor knows he agrees, knows he’d have given almost anything to stay with his family, and the way Isamu looks apologetically regretful says he knows as well. He’d probably heard about Yuuri’s outburst while Phichit was visiting, or even heard something from Yuuri himself at one point or another. Sighing, Yuuri takes another sip of his tea.

Minako leans forward. “Your Majesty, may I also add that you are well-loved by your people. You’re young, relatable, and working towards progress in a way that many of your predecessors have been unwilling or unable to do. They admire your tenacity, your genuine demeanor, and a lot of people are both fond and appreciative of the fact that you worked a job in service for several years.”

“I told you it was a good idea,” Yuuri mutters.

“You said you wanted to know what having a job was like at the time, you said nothing about it helping your image,” Minako retorts, “but regardless, public opinion of you is much higher than even we’d anticipated. Your people love you, especially with your commitment to the betterment of Akitsushima as a whole.”

“It’s not just the dog photos Viktor posts of us on Instagram?”

Laughing, Minako shakes her head. “No, but I’m sure that doesn’t hurt your case. Your nation… your  _ people _ have watched their Crown Prince vanish in fear for his life. They waited with bated breath for news of you for fifteen long years, only hearing that you were alive and safe on occasion. Your family has always been considered somewhat old-fashioned and quite distant from common citizens, so when you returned, your demeanor was a pleasant surprise. 

“You connect with people, you worked the service industry and it shows in how you treat your subjects and your staff, you’re progressive and you want to do right by your country, not just by its richest and most powerful citizens— a group which obviously includes yourself. Not only that but you’re dating a commoner, prestigious though he might be, and let yourself be shown as imperfect. The selfies you’ve posted of you doing the most mundane things— playing with Makkachin, working out with Viktor, some of your old work selfies and the like— are by far the most popular images on your social media. The people want a monarch they can relate to and feel confident won’t fuck them over, if you’ll excuse my language, and they’ve found that in you.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. “To hear someone dislikes you for any or all of these reasons… The people may not take kindly. There has been pushback about the nobility’s hold on this country before, about our stagnating social progress, and I don’t get the impression the people will take being held back like this for much longer.”

Mouth gaping, Yuuri stares at her for a moment. “So you’re saying…”

“She’s saying,” Isamu emphasizes, “that the nobility are severely overestimating their importance to common citizens, and vastly underestimating the widespread support you have. Especially the more conservative nobles, such as Takeda. Public opinion can, and likely will, turn very strongly against them if this is exposed.”

Yuuri looks up at his uncle. Isamu smiles at him. “People were upset when you left. People were worried, every time we said you were safe, news spread like a wildfire. You were loved by many before your disappearance, and now that you’ve come back and they’ve seen the man you’ve become? I think you’ll find much of the citizenry is sympathetic to you, Yuuri-sama.”

“That’s good to hear,” Yuuri says. The relief in his voice is clear. Not even a year into his reign, his position still feels tenuous— moreso than it would have if he’d grown up here. People are still learning about the man that rules them, still getting a feel for who Yuuri is as a person, how he believes, and to what extent he’s willing to stand up for the citizenry. Apparently, they’re liking what they see so far, and even Viktor feels the tension easing. Makka paws at his leg, but he pushes him aside and resumes scratching at his ears. 

“This isn't to say  _ everyone _ loves you, you need to remember that,” Isamu warns. “Aside from those who oppose a monarchy to begin with, there are commoners who are incredibly traditional, who believe the Royal Family itself must embody what it is to be Akitsushiman, as if we’re a relic and the purest example of our heritage. They dislike Viktor almost as much as Takeda does, and many of them aren't so thrilled about you abolishing patriarchal lineage and changing the line of succession around.”

“I'm their  _ King,” _ Yuuri says. “They have no  _ righ—” _

“Rights to dictate your personal life? No. Right to tell you how to run the country? No. But opinions and beliefs they are allowed to have, and they  _ do.” _

Yuuri scowls, but nods. “If they hold us so sacred, wouldn’t it make sense for them to be upset about an attempt on my life when I was a child? You know,  _ before _ I was blatantly trying to bring down the monarchy?”

“That  _ would _ make sense. I'll try to play it up, see if I can’t get conservative press to emphasize the fact that if you hadn't been forced to run, you would have grown up with a sense of cultural heritage.”

“What, do they think I  _ didn’t?” _

“All they know is you vanished and came back acting common, which you  _ do,  _ sometimes. You're nice. The little emotion you show in public is more than any of us. You served people at a café, and don't resent the fact, nor do you try to hide it.” Isamu crosses his arms, looks at Yuuri with a complicated look. “You are by far the most fascinating monarch this country has ever seen. You have all the bearing of your station, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't entirely hide the commoner demeanor you adopted for much of your life. It likely never will.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Yuuri asks, voice unusually soft and unsure.

“Not really, no,” Isamu replies. 

“What does that mean?”

“It's strange.” Isamu sighs, looking at his nephew. “I have to admit, I was taken aback when I first talked to you. I know your aunt and cousins were, as well. It’s not  _ bad,  _ per se, just unusual. You're far less distant than we expected. Far less reserved, when in private. Far nicer than we were anticipating, especially considering how long you’d been Crown Prince and how long you’d been away.”

“I see,” Yuuri responds. It's flatter than most of his responses, but he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. “So we are likely to have public support once all this is taken care of?” He gestures vaguely in a circle before clasping his fingers together in front of him, looking stonily at his uncle. 

“Indeed, Yuuri-sama,” Isamu answers, tone shifting slightly into something more deferential. The abrupt change in topic is a clear indication that Yuuri’s finished talking, an indirect order for the subject to be dropped and it is, immediately, with neither question nor comment. 

“Is there anything else?” Yuuri asks. 

Isamu shakes his head. “No, we’ll be giving you your final itinerary in a couple of days for your approval.”

“Very well.” Yuuri gives a dismissive wave as he stares at the floor. It’s clear something’s on his mind, especially if he’s acting like this with Minako, but they don’t push it. Instead, they stand and bow, leaving quietly. Minako glances at Viktor, eyebrows raised and clearly wondering if he’s going to make sure Yuuri’s okay, and Viktor nods discreetly. With a sigh of relief, she leaves, closing the door behind her. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, “will you please lock the door? I'm going to put on something a bit more comfortable.”

Viktor nods, moving to do as Yuuri asked. He meets Yuuri in the bedroom just as he’s pulling on a pair of gym shorts, and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s bare stomach. 

“Lyubov,” he starts, “I—”

“I'd like to make tea,” Yuuri interrupts, moving away and grabbing his t-shirt. 

“You can just  _ say _ you don’t want to talk about something,” Viktor retorts. 

Turning, Yuuri looks indignant for a moment before his face softens and he looks down. “You're right, I'm sorry. I just… would like a cup of tea at the moment. And a second to think.”

“That’s fine,” Viktor responds gently. “Will you make it while I change?”

Nodding, Yuuri kisses him and pulls his shirt on. “Caffeine?” he asks. 

“Please.”

 

They’re cuddled on the couch, half-empty mugs in hand when Yuuri lets out a sigh. “Ever since I was sixteen I've been trained extensively for this, you know this. All day, every day. I was expected to act royal, talk like a royal,  _ everything,  _ but… after what my uncle said, it clearly wasn't enough. Like it was all for nothing. And if I stayed I'd have ‘grown up with a sense of cultural heritage’? I've  _ always _ been culturally Akitsushiman,” he says. “I  _ know _ my heritage, I know my history and that of my people. Not once have I identified as anything  _ but _ Akitsushiman, Nee-chan made sure of that.”

“I think your uncle meant that the  _ people _ think you don't have a sense of heritage, not that  _ he _ doesn't,” Viktor responds. “You act markedly different from your family. Mostly in private, yes, but—”

“How would  _ you _ know?”

Viktor glares at Yuuri. “Because I've spent almost six months with Minako trying to train me to be royal, and the same six months living  _ here  _ and interacting with both you and your family. I may not have  _ grown up _ royal but you can’t say I don't know  _ anything.” _

“Minako spent  _ years _ trying to train me,” Yuuri bites. “I know how not to act like a commoner.”

“But you were  _ never actually common,” _ Viktor says. “You were being kept in habits you’d been developing since birth, and pretending to be common in front of people. There’s a difference. You can’t see how you act differently, because you straddled both worlds for so long, but I can. I  _ only knew _ being common until I moved in here. Your family has only ever known being, and acting, royal at all times. It's easier for us to see.”

“Am I really that bad at this?” Staring at his cup, tears start forming in the corner of his eyes. 

Wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, Viktor rubs soothing circles into his skin. “No,” he replies with some level of surety. “You've never seemed anything but royal since we got here. Your uncle said you had all the bearing of your station, right? He was mostly talking about how you treat people, I believe.”

“Does this all make you uncomfortable?” Hesitant, Yuuri sips more of his tea. 

“It used to,” Viktor says. Seeing Yuuri wince, he sighs. “Mostly because of how different you were. Almost like seeing a stranger, but… not. I got used to it. I had ‘Yuuri the Barista’ in my head for so long, ‘Yuuri the Royal’ took some time to mesh.”

“Must have been some serious whiplash,” Yuuri says with a wry smile. 

“It was,” Viktor agrees. “There are still moments,” he says, “but they’re rare. Stuff like the ball, mostly. Or those times I remember just… who you are. What position you have. How naturally you seem to fill it. I was used to you being a barista, remember.” He looks at his lap. There hadn’t been any plans to tell Yuuri about this, but here they are. 

“If it’s any consolation, acting the part in front of you was… pretty fucking weird,” Yuuri commiserates. “That whole bit at the airport, then getting here and then,of course, I became King and you were shoved in a bedroom and it was all… I had no choice in how I acted around you after that.”

“I know,” Viktor says. “We made it through, though.”

Setting his mug down on the side table, Yuuri turns to hug Viktor, burying his face in his chest. “We did,” he whispers. “We  _ will.” _ With his index finger, Yuuri traces a snowflake pattern on Viktor’s sternum, where the pendant used to lay. Viktor knows he misses them. Viktor misses them himself, and he pulls Yuuri close, kisses his forehead in reassurance. 

“I feel like I forget myself sometimes,” Yuuri says after a long while. “Not in public, really, but with you.”

“You've never taken things too far,” Viktor replies. Sighing with relief, Yuuri sinks further into his arms. 

“You're sure?”

“You always back off, Yuuri.”

“I love you,” Yuuri says with almost heartbreaking tenderness. He sounds grateful, relieved, earnest and sincere and the love that fills Viktor’s chest threatens to strangle him. 

“I love you, too, Lyubov moya. With everything I have.”

 

~*~

 

“Big day, huh?” Viktor walks across the terrace, leaning on the railing next to Mari. 

She takes a deep breath. “Yes. It’s a long-awaited moment of progress.”

“It is,” Viktor says, “but you're also becoming Crown Princess. It's a huge responsibility, and a huge change for you.”

“I was trained for this,” she says with her usual royal grace. 

“Yuuri was trained to be King, but that doesn't mean becoming King was easy on him.”

She looks at Viktor. “Fair point.” Looking back out over the grounds, she sighs. “My uncle intends to stay in Hasetsu until everything has settled down. My aunt and cousins will be heading home soon, though. Kiyomi has some sort of training camp, she’s on her school’s swim team.”

“A nice, safe sport,” Viktor says. 

Mari chuckles. “Yeah. The Palace tends to want us as coddled as possible.”

“Sounds like it sucks.”

Shrugging, she looks at him. “It's all I've known.”

“And your brother?” Viktor asks. 

“Yes. Though there was significantly less the Palace could control at that distance.”

Nodding, Viktor looks around. The summer sun shines brightly in the blue sky, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze. Straightening his tie, he’s grateful for the lightweight material of his suit as the summer sun beats down on them. The ceremony itself will be held in the throne room, a relatively simple process wherein Yuuri awards titles to his sister and uncle, makes some sort of speech, and smile as he shakes peoples’ hands and poses for pictures. 

It's not long before they get pulled into a nearby parlor to sit with Hiroko, Yuuri and Isamu until the start. While security is high today and there aren't many nobles here, he can't help but be nervous about Takeda and other dissenters doing something. Viktor  _ knows _ much of the nobility supports the new law, especially after an impassioned speech Isamu had made before the court encouraging progress. He’d gotten more than the needed support, and the nation had watched the highly-televised moment Yuuri had signed the change of succession into law, stamping it with the golden ceremonial seal. 

“It almost ended up on the floor,” Yuuri had complained at him later. “Much larger and heavier than the wood and metal day-to-day one in my office. I wasn't expecting it the first time I lifted it.”

Re-watching the footage later, Viktor saw the slight widening of Yuuri’s eyes as he barely held onto it, heard the slightly louder-than-necessary thump as Yuuri had set it on the inkpad. Putting seal to paper, however, had gone perfectly. Everyone in the room had applauded as an attendant held up the paper for all to see, Yuuri had smiled for the camera, stately in a crisp black suit and a large golden crown on his head. The first major piece of legislation of his reign, and it was a much-anticipated step towards progress celebrated by his people. 

In preparation, Mari and Yuuri had spent the previous afternoon rehearsing the motions of the relatively simple ceremony, until Minako deemed them good enough. Viktor, in turn, memorized the Japanese phrases that would serve as his cues. While he’s relatively comfortable in basic Japanese conversation, Yuuri’s political speeches are still far beyond his understanding. Viktor’ll be fed interpretation through an earpiece, but it’ll look better avoiding even that momentary delay. 

They’re called over shortly, sound tech getting Viktor’s earpiece adjusted so it's at a comfortable volume. The ceremony today will be televised, and both Viktor and Yuuri have had make-up applied to near-perfection, but there’s still one last check-over before the ceremony begins. When instructed to, Viktor files in with Hiroko on his arm, followed by Emi and her children. The Throne Room is full of attendees, all standing and facing the center aisle as they make their way to the front and climb the dais, standing to the side to watch Yuuri as he walks in. A hush falls over as he enters alone. Tall and proud, he walks slowly to the dais as people to either side bow their heads as he passes, then climbs the steps. He stands before the throne for a moment, looking across the room before gracefully sitting, back rigid, with an air of absolute authority. Hiroko takes her place in a smaller throne to the side, and Viktor and the rest of Yuuri’s family sit closer to the edge of the dais on wooden chairs brought for the ceremony itself. Yuuri gestures to the guard next to him, who shouts the announcement to begin. 

 

It goes off without a hitch. Viktor manages to smile at the appropriate times, look sorrowful when needed, and clap with everyone else as the speeches go on. Yuuri sits on his throne, genial and regal and perfect as he listens to others, before it’s his turn. Addressing his uncle, he thanks him for his service, praises the work he’s done and his desire to see progress even though it means the loss of his title and status as next in line. To his sister, he offers words of support, of praise, of expectation that as the nation’s first Crown Princess and the new Heir Presumptive, she set an example for generations to come. She accepts the responsibility with grace, of course, prostrating herself before her little brother before rising to kneeling to receive her new title. Isamu is awarded the title of Grand Duke in honor of his role in this change and the years he spent at Toshiya’s right hand, is given an explicit level of authority just below Mari, and cameras flash as the audience applauds, as Yuuri poses with his family. As Yuuri and his uncle and sister make history before Viktor’s very eyes.

 

~*~

 

Takeda makes it a point to talk to Yuuri after the ceremony. As a guest of the Crown, Takeda is obligated to thank Yuuri once more for his hospitality and to say his goodbyes, and Yuuri is obligated to pretend he hasn't spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to throw the man in prison for life. As Yuuri's partner, Viktor is also obliged to be there, smiling and laughing and being nice to a man that wants him dead. 

The implications that Viktor is only staying with Yuuri for the luxury and prestige sting in the face of what they're up against, especially when Viktor considers all the work he’d put into adapting even before the threat. He bristles every time Takeda smiles at him. As much as Viktor hopes he’ll slip up in front of Yuuri, give Yuuri a reason to demand his arrest and subsequently end this nightmare, Takeda’s on his best behavior. Nothing he says, nothing he does would give anyone a clue as to how far he’s threatened to go to achieve his own ends, and Yuuri knows it. Yuuri hates it. By the time Takeda finally leaves Yuuri’s near livid, and even Isamu is hesitant to approach him.

Approach he does, though. Emi and their children are making the most of their last day here, and after lunch is a trip to Ice Castle Hasetsu. Viktor managed to catch Isamu alone and wheedle her favorite program out of him, so he has the costume from that program ready and waiting. A few days of practicing that routine specifically over the course of the week has left him confident he can match, if not exceed, the standards he'd met the season it was performed. 

A few tweaks in the footwork haven't exactly hurt, either, and it’s a wonder he’d broken a record with the program. Yuuri, knowing what he has planned, has volunteered to work the music and distract his aunt as needed, for some reason thrilled to be put to work in any capacity. 

“No one ever asks me to do anything anymore,” he explains when Vikor points it out. “I  _ like _ helping with stuff like this.”

 

Once he’s done seething at Takeda, somewhere in the process of changing into a suit for lunch, Yuuri begins to look downright excited. A tracksuit is set next to his gear bag, ready to be taken to the car, and Viktor places his own stuff next to it, finding himself gifted with a kiss the moment he turns around. Eyes shining brighter than the crown on his head, Yuuri is grinning when Viktor pulls back. 

“Excited, Lyubov?” he asks. 

Yuuri nods. “I haven't been able to skate since Yura was out here, and my family’s all going, and it’s gonna be fun.”

Kissing his nose, Viktor tries to rest his forehead on Yuuri’s, but the crown digs into his skin. Frowning, he pulls back, plucks the crown off his fiancé’s head, and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“You won't be wearing one of these when you skate today, right?”

Laughing, Yuuri shakes his head. “No, I couldn't do spins. I  _ like _ spins. It’d fly off, you know this.”

Viktor chuckles. “I wore a kippah to practice once. First spin I did it flew off and hit Yakov square in the face! He almost didn't believe it was an accident.” This earns him a laugh, Yuuri wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

Brushing the bangs out of Viktor’s eyes, Yuuri kisses his nose, taking the crown back with his other hand and moving to the mirror to put it back on. Lining it up, he gets it situated on his head, making minor adjustments to his hair before nodding and turning around again, holding his hand out for Viktor to hold as they walk to the dining room.

 

Lunch is a fairly simple, quick affair, and when finished they pile into several cars for the trip to Ice Castle. When they arrive, Yuuko and Takeshi are standing outside with the girls. All bow as the Royal Family approaches, and everyone immediately splits off and heads to the locker rooms with their respective entourages. Looking out, Viktor can see the rink has been recently zamboni’d, but not so recently that it’s still wet. He smiles. By the time everyone’s out near the boards, he can see clearly that while Mari seems to have some experience on skates, her mother has a death grip on her arm, though she’s beaming with happiness. Yuuri makes his way over, smiling, and offers his own. Mari gives him a grateful look when Hiroko’s white-knuckled grip shifts to his arm.

They start with fun, recreational skating. Viktor puts on a playlist of songs he uses when he’s messing around, letting himself experiment with footwork and transitions, all with a sort of upbeat energy. Yuuri’s cousins know some footwork, a couple of singles. Yuuri’s aunt, as well, is clearly familiar with ice skating beyond going in circles. Aside from Yuuri, they’re the only members of the Royal Family not sticking close to the boards. 

Yuuri does some footwork, getting more and more complicated as he finds his bearing on the ice. Bits and pieces of Viktor’s routines are woven in with some of Phichit’s and others he doesn’t recall seeing. His background in ballet shows in how he carries his arms, the way he counterbalances himself as he spins. Running through his warmup, Viktor watches as Yuuri does a two-jump combination, a double toe loop into a triple axel, and his family bursts into applause.

Skating over to where Emi is chatting with her husband, Viktor comes smoothly to a stop next to them. “Your Highnesses,” he says, smiling when they look at him. “I know we’re leaving fairly soon, were you still wanting to watch a program?”

Isamu stifles a smile. Viktor’s enthusiasm about skating Emi’s favorite program hadn’t gone unnoticed, he’d explained how much he does enjoy performing and surprising his fans while Isamu’d grinned and proceeded to painstakingly try to describe the program until Viktor had looked it up and asked if that was the one. It had been, and Isamu had promised to keep the secret.

Emi nods enthusiastically, shuttling her kids off the ice while Viktor goes to ‘use the facilities’. Yuuri gives him a kiss as he walks past, mischief in his eyes and Viktor’s phone ready to play the required music. 

The costume fits as well as Viktor remembers, and he does some stretches to get a feel for how the fabric moves again. It’s been a few years since he’d worn it in competition, but after some movement he's comfortable. 

“Vityusha?” Yuuri pokes his head in. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah,” Viktor replies, nodding.

Yuuri smiles. “Good,” he says. “Would you be able to help me into my costume? I have like three minutes- I said I was going to the bathroom before finding you.”

Grinning, Viktor nods again. The part of the surprise Isamu  _ doesn't  _ know about is the one where Viktor and Yuuri had hobbled together Stammi Vicino choreography to add a few pairs moves, building on the vague pairs routine they'd developed in Detroit. It's rough, nowhere near as polished as it would be for competition or an exhibition skate, but Yuuri wants to show his family  _ his _ skill, too. Viktor wants to help him do that, and he’s more than overjoyed to be skating a program with his fiancé. 

Yuuri changes quickly into the costume he’d selected, one from Viktor’s early seniors programs, before he’d filled out. It’s a blue military-style uniform with silver accents, gemstones adding a distinct flair while not adding complicated detail, and the black pants that go with it are close enough to the trackpants Yuuri was wearing that the change won't be noticed, so long as he keeps his jacket zipped. Viktor does the clasps he needs to do, pressing a kiss to the nape of Yuuri’s neck, and turns him around to adjust how it lays on his body. Yuuri shoves the black gloves that complete the costume into his jacket pocket before zipping it up, hiding the new outfit. 

“Shall we?”

Viktor nods again, kisses his fiancé, and walks them back to the rink. 

There are gasps when Emi sees him, applause from every member of the Royal Family. They’ve taken their skates off and are all standing by the boards. Yuuri, still in his skates, flashes a thumbs-up to let Viktor know music’s ready, and after skating a lap or two, Viktor takes his starting position. 

The song is something hopeful, something searching, and the footwork is light and quick. He does the exhibition version, more fun with the added flair and originality allowed, and Yuuri’s aunt takes considerable delight in seeing him perform. Spinning into the finish, Viktor breathes hard, smiling at Emi and her family, before he skates over and grabs Yuuri’s water bottle. 

“That was magnificent, Vicchan!” Hiroko says. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He grins as she pats his arm.

“Viktor,” Emi says, taking his hand, “that was lovely, thank you so much. It's my favorite of your routines!”

“I know,” Viktor responds with sparkling eyes, giving a pointed nod in Isamu’s direction. Isamu laughs when Emi gently hits his arm. 

“Oh,  _ you,” _ she says. “Did you ask Viktor for this?”

“No,” Isamu replies, “he asked  _ me _ which your favorite was.”

She smiles at him, love in her eyes, and takes his hand as Mari clears her throat. 

“Are we ready to head out?” Mari asks. 

“Not quite.” Yuuri steps forward, taking the gloves out of his pocket before unzipping his jacket. As he shrugs it off, his family gasps, looking at each other. “Vitya and I have one more routine for you all.”

Whispering instructions to Yuuko, Yuuri hands off his phone, presumably with the right track selected. Joining Viktor on the ice, he skates over, kissing his cheek before pulling him to the center of the rink. They do a small lap in unison, Yuuri does one or two small jumps, but they then take their position in the center. There are an awkward few seconds before Yuuri gestures at Yuuko to start the music, but when she does, the world melts away. 

Viktor takes considerable delight in skating with his fiancé, revelling in every brush of their fingertips, every shared, loving glance. He feels Yuuri's arms around him, wraps Yuuri in his own, and they glide through the routine in tandem. Their spins are almost perfectly timed, neither of them fall, and as they go into their final moves Viktor feels hands on his waist, sees Yuuri’s grin as he initiates a finish they’d practiced, but not decided to use. He has a split second to put his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders before he’s lifted into the air. 

The world spins around them as he smiles, staring into Yuuri’s shining eyes and as they come to a stop, there’s a moment where everything goes still. Applause trickles through the haze, Yuuri, smiling, lowers Viktor onto the ice gently. They share a kiss and skate back to the boards, where Hiroko and Emi are almost in tears. Emi thanks them both, hugs her nephew when he steps off the ice. It’s the perfect end to their stay here, she says, and she’s honored to have been here to see them skate. Yuuri’s thrilled to have shown everyone, and pink dusts his cheeks and ears as he rubs the back of his head sheepishly, listening to their praise.

Viktor feels the pinching of a muscle cramp half-way through Hiroko telling Yuuri how much the surprise thrilled her, and he bites back a grunt as an annoyingly hard spasm grips his side. He makes it to the limo for the ride home before Yuuri makes a comment, but by then the memory is just a dull ache in his side. Reassuring his fiancé, Viktor kisses him, explains, and tells him he’ll be just fine. Kissing him in return, Yuuri indulges him with a bit of cuddling as well, sighing in happy contentment against Viktor’s side. 

 

~*~

 

There’s a lot more fanfare involved in going to the airport, Viktor finds, when you’re travelling with the King. Yuuri stares out the windows of the motorcade as they drive, following the police escort through the streets of Hasetsu. Sighing, Yuuri brushes lint off his his pant leg. 

“It’ll be nice to see St. Petersburg with you,” he says, voice barely louder than the air conditioning. 

“I'm excited to show you,” Viktor murmurs into his ear before kissing him on the cheek. Hana, sitting in the other end of the limo, glances over and smiles before going back to her word puzzles. They pull directly onto the tarmac where two rows of guards stand on either side of a green carpet path to the plane, reminiscent of their arrival. Hana takes Yuuri’s messenger bag before he has a chance to. When he gives her a questioning look, she shrugs. 

“You're not supposed to be carrying anything, remember?” Yuuri sighs, nodding. Hana smiles. “I'll take care of it, I know you keep important stuff in here.”

He smiles gratefully. “Okay, Nee-chan.” 

Patting it, she frowns and starts squeezing the sides. “Did you put a pillow in here?”

“Pajamas,” he says, “I'm not wearing a suit for a thirteen-hour flight.”

“Did you forget some of your luggage will be in the cabin with you? You’ll both have clothes there.”

Yuuri blushes, clearing his throat as they come to a stop. Taking a deep breath, he slips into his public persona, adjusts his circlet and nods determinedly. Giving Viktor a kiss, he smiles and takes his hand. 

“Ready?”

Viktor nods. He's far more ready now than the last time he’d walked through lines of guards at an airport. At least this time, he knows what’s going on. The driver opens the limousine door, and Yuuri steps out first. Yuuri waits a second as Viktor gets out. When he’s standing next to his fiancé, Viktor stands tall, resisting the urge to use his hands to shade his eyes from the sun. The Guard snaps to attention, and Yuuri and Viktor make their way to the plane with Viktor half a step behind Yuuri for propriety’s sake, though the rest of their entourage stays well behind him.

The press is there, of course, to document their King’s first trip abroad in an official capacity, and Yuuri does a good job of waving without looking too enthusiastic, before they make their way up the carpeted stairs. They stop again at the top of the stairs to wave once more, before turning into the darkness of the cabin. The plane itself is fairly large as far as private planes go. The front half is nice, better than First Class on a normal airplane with plenty of plush chairs, some rows with tables in between and a large TV on one wall. Yuuri walks through all this, through a heavy velvet curtain, and into a bona-fide hallway along one side of the plane. Through a sliding door Viktor sees a lavish area with a dinner table that seats ten or so. The next area has a smaller table in between four chairs that Yuuri makes a beeline for, a couch, and reclining armchairs in front of a much larger television. Everything is sleek, polished cherrywood and soft dark leather, Yuuri’s family crest emblazoned on headrests and tables, on the walls, the carpet, and even the light fixtures, subtle though it is. 

An attendant takes their drink orders, quickly going and closing the door behind herself. 

“Do you think Makkachin will be okay?” Viktor asks as he joins Yuuri at the table. 

“He’ll be fine,” Yuuri says, “my mom’ll keep him with her while we’re gone.”

Viktor's asked the question before, but he’s very attached to his dog and Yuuri understands, reassuring him patiently each time he asks. Hana pokes her head in. 

“Your Majesty,” she says with a fond smile, “we’ll be taking off once they finish loading luggage, they’ve put your carry-ons in the back room.” 

“Thank you, Hana-san,” he responds. “You'll be in here with us?”

“I'll be up in the front with the rest of your entourage, Sire. I have a card game to beat Yulian at again.”

Yuuri snorts, smiling. “Ok, then. What were you planning on doing for dinner?”

“If it would please you, I’d been planning to take it in the dining room with yourself and Mr. Nikiforov.”

“I'd like that” he replies. Much like with his family and Viktor, Yuuri is careful not to give her a direct order unnecessarily. As she’s his bodyguard, it’s a bit trickier, but what orders he gives her are strictly related to her duties. Aside from that, she has her ways of communicating her preferences when asked in such a way that it doesn’t make Yuuri look bad. Viktor still hasn’t entirely gotten the hang of whatever code they use, but it works well enough for them and that’s the important thing. Hana sets Yuuri’s messenger bag on the couch for him, giving a nod before she vanishes. Sighing, Yuuri settles back into the seat as they start taxiing down the runway. 

“Did you fly like this when you were a kid?” Viktor asks, gesturing at the spacious interior of the jet.

Yuuri nods. “The planes were smaller and such, so it wasn’t quite like  _ this, _ but I’d only ever been in private jets before I left. I didn’t realize planes usually had rows of smushed-together seats and a whole bunch of strangers until Hana and I had already left the Palace. She had to explain it on the way to the airport. Honestly… I’m still more used to the idea of flying like this. I flew all the time when I was a kid, all over the world, but since I left Hasetsu…” He frowns, counting something out on his fingers. “Ever since I left I’ve been on a plane six times. The first time to the States, then to and from Thailand for Phichit’s costume, then to and from Russia for your competition, and then… back to Hasetsu.”

“I thought you’d visited Los Angeles?” Viktor asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “Phichit and I took a road trip. Drove there and back. Oh, Vitya, you can address me however during the flight, I made that absolutely clear.” Yuuri’s disdain for the propriety governing their actions is increasingly strong. The pilot’s voice comes over the speakers, telling everyone they’re about to take off, and Yuuri watches out the window as the engines roar. They’re barely off the ground when he leans towards the window eagerly.

“Vitya, Vitya, look, you can see the Palace,” he says, pointing. Looking out, it takes a moment to locate it, but the sea of green, the paths of the gardens, the massive building… it’s all clearly visible from the air. It reminds Viktor of Russia, how he used to look for landmarks as he flew out of St. Petersburg; the Neva, the Hermitage and Winter Palace, some of the churches. In the past, he’d made many attempts to use those to find wherever he’d been living at the time, either in the skater’s dorms or Lilia’s, briefly, or his apartment.

He’d never lived somewhere he could find so easily.

It doesn’t take much longer until the pilot tells everyone they’re at altitude and can remove their seatbelts, and Yuuri wastes no time in doing so. Standing, he walks over to his messenger bag, pulling out gym shorts and the rink t-shirt he still has from Detroit. It’s probably why he’d taken the liberty of packing them himself. Staff had done most of their packing, Viktor really only putting his personal items into a small bag to make sure he has them with him, and they’re unlikely to have packed anything that casual for  _ either _ of them. Viktor makes a note to check and see if they’d been sure to include the workout clothing he and Yuuri had requested. He knows their skate bags are there, he saw them being carefully loaded onto the luggage cart, but the Palace tends to frown on Yuuri wearing workout clothing in public. Viktor has a feeling that the only reason they haven’t objected to  _ him _ doing it is by virtue of the fact that he’s an athlete by profession and making him work out in a suit would be a bad look for them.

A minute after he vanishes through the door, Yuuri comes back out dressed more comfortably, with his glasses on. “Your day bag is in the bedroom if you want to change, too. We have a bit over twelve hours until we get there.”

“I think I will,” Viktor replies, undoing his seatbelt and standing up. “There’s a bedroom?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, uhh, out the door, then turn left, it’s further back in the plane. Before the bathroom though.”

Going to the back, he’s surprised when he gets through the next door and sees a large double bed in the center of the room. He’s honestly not sure what he’d expected. The few private jets he's taken have been much smaller than this, including the one to Tokyo for Worlds, but then, Yuuri is King and it’s a very long flight, not to mention the massive amount of staff accompanying them. Rummaging through his bag, he pulls out a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt, stripping quickly and putting them on. A pair of fuzzy socks completes the outfit, and he’s soon heading back out to sit with Yuuri. 

Coffee is ready when he gets back out, and Yuuri’s sipping his happily from a ceramic mug. After sitting down, Viktor mixes cream and sugar into his own, looking out the window at the ocean. Once they’re done with their coffee, they browse the selection of movies on the television and curl up on the couch together.

 

Credits are rolling when Yuuri yawns against Viktor’s chest, snuggling just a bit closer. One of the flight staff knocks on the door, coming in a second later and bowing deeply.

“Your Majesty,” he says, “dinner is almost ready and will be served in the dining room.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. “Will you please inform Kataoka Hana-san and ask her to join me? She’ll be eating with us.”

“Of course, Sire,” he says, vanishing again. 

They climb off the couch, Yuuri stretching after being curled up for so long. He yawns again, nose scrunching adorably, and Viktor kisses it, getting a wide-eyed look of surprise. Blushing, Yuuri kisses him in return. 

Back into the hall they go, the ocean glittering outside the windows lining it, and Yuuri walks into the open dining room. Gleaming silver place settings and glittering stemless wine glasses are laid out already, on each side of one end of the table. Yuuri sits at the head and Viktor takes a seat at his right hand. 

Hana clears her throat when she enters a moment later. “Majesty, you summoned me?” she asks, bowing with a grin and a flourish.

Yuuri sticks his tongue out at her. “Dinner’s almost done,” he replies as she takes the seat across from Viktor. 

Hana smiles. “How’s the flight so far?” 

“Alright,” Yuuri says. “Vitya and I watched a movie. Cuddled on the couch, which was easier after I found a blanket to keep my skin from sticking to the leather.”

A flight attendant comes in, setting large china plates at each place, and then a light salad with seasonal vegetables. Dressing is poured, while someone else fills their wine glasses, and after both attendants bow, they’re left alone. If it weren't for the small windows spaced evenly along the wall it would be easy to mistake this for a dining room in a hotel or restaurant. 

Dinner ends up being five courses of food that rivals even the most exclusive restaurants Viktor has visited. Each wine is paired perfectly, and courses are timed well enough that there’s time to settle in between, but not so much that they get bored. Each dish is better than the last, ending with a light strawberry crumble served with champagne. Yuuri sighs when he’s done, leaning back in his chair. 

“That was really good,” he says. 

“Did you expect anything less?” Hana asks. 

Finishing his champagne, Yuuri shrugs. “Last airplane food I had came in a plastic tray and kinda sucked, so I wasn't expecting it to taste so… fresh.”

“Ahh,” Hana says, smiling. 

“Does staff eat well?” Yuuri frowns as he looks at her. She takes a moment, blinking, before she shrugs. 

“Not quite this well, but yes. Our food is good and they serve drinks, too.”

“You don't have to pay for them, do you?”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “No, no, it’s all included. On trips like this your family ensures room and board are taken care of in their entirety. We’re only responsible for personal stuff, like souvenirs.”

“Good,” he says. 

The door opens and someone comes in to clear their dishes. Yuuri declines coffee, citing the fact that he and Viktor ought to sleep for a few hours before they need to prepare for their arrival. Yuuri gives Hana a hug before she vanishes to the front of the plane. 

Viktor is the first into the bathroom, and it takes him a moment to realize the glass door in the corner is to an actual shower. He’s still staring when Yuuri walks in. 

“That’s a shower,” he says. 

After a moment of dumbfounded silence Yuuri mutters, “holy shit, it is.”

“You didn't notice?” 

“Took out my contacts in the bedroom,” he replies, opening the shower door and stepping inside. The tiled floor is textured enough that mild turbulence shouldn't cause problems, and travel-size versions of their toiletries are in a small rack on the wall along with washcloths and razors and whatever they could possibly need. Eyes wide, Yuuri steps back out. Viktor takes a moment to inspect it himself. There’s just enough space above for him to wash his hair easily, though he’ll have to duck a bit to rinse under the shower head, but at the same time- they’re on a plane with a shower. 

It's impressive, and far more than he’d expected when he’d boarded. When he steps out, Yuuri is pulling toothbrushes out of a small cabinet in the wall, toothpaste already set next to two cups on either side of the sink. They look at each other, shrug, and get ready to sleep. 

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes to the bed jolting under him, Yuuri sitting up and gasping for air as he gropes blindly for Viktor’s arm. Groggily reaching out, Viktor takes his hand, gripping it tightly as he shifts to kneeling on the bed. Another nightmare, it seems, and even in his sleep-addled state Viktor moves to comfort his fiancé. 

“I'm here,” he murmurs, pulling Yuuri close. 

Trembling arms snake their way around his stomach as Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s chest. “You were dead,” he whispers. “And I couldn't do anything. I failed you, my country, our families and there was n-nothing I could  _ do.” _

_ “Oh, Lyubov,” _ Viktor says, kissing his forehead. “I'm here, we're safe.”

Yuuri nods in his chest, clinging just a bit harder as he tries to breathe through the last of the panic. After a bit, there’s a knock on the door, Hana poking her head in and smiling until she sees the look on Viktor’s face. She hurries around the bed, sitting next to Yuuri and combing a few fingers through his hair. 

“Nightmare?” Yuuri nods in response. “You gonna be okay?” she asks. 

Nodding again, Yuuri leans back and rubs at his eyes. “How long till we land?” he asks Hana. 

“About two hours, Hon, I was just coming in to wake you up. Breakfast is ready and waiting in the lounge, after that you both can shower and get dressed for the landing.”

“Press will be there?” Yuuri waves Hana off until she stands up, then puts his legs over the side, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Naturally,” she says, “as well as a delegation from St. Petersburg’s government and the Russian Skating Federation.”

“What are we doing on arrival specifically?”

Hana grimaces. “Press. Shaking hands, more press. They’ll be wanting to talk to Viktor, as well, what with him being their National Hero.” That’s right. Viktor hasn't been back in Russia since news broke of Yuuri’s return and their relationship went public, though the support they’ve gotten over social media gives him high hopes for their reception. It’ll be strange adopting the demeanor required when he’s used to being Russia’s Darling, but he’s been allowed a bit of informality now that he’s home. Just enough to maintain his image while still reflecting well on the Royal Family. 

Breakfast is warm fruit pastries and coffee, laid out for them on the small table. They’re briefed while they eat, a lengthier and more detailed version of what Hana said earlier. Eating takes far longer than expected and they end up showering together, washing each others’ hair with smiles and laughter and the occasional kiss on the nose. They’re both excited, Viktor to be back in Russia for a bit, and Yuuri to see the city Viktor spent most of his formative years in.

Suits are laid out for them on the bed, a leather case set next to Yuuri’s, holding the circlet he’s supposed to be wearing. They’re groomed, dressed, and sitting in the lounge about half an hour before they’re supposed to be landing. Yuuri sits in an armchair, legs crossed and back straight. His hair is gelled back, his contacts are in, and where just an hour ago Viktor could pretend at the domestic intimacy so rare these days, he can't any longer. 

He’s fairly well cleaned-up himself, as he usually is when he wears suits, and it's impossible to ignore the fact that they make a striking pair. Sitting next to Yuuri, he pulls out his phone. 

“Selfie, Velichestvo?”

Yuuri looks at him, smiling. “Of course,” he replies, leaning ever-so-slightly closer to Viktor. He takes several, one of them making faces at the camera to send to their families, and sends the best to the Palace to be posted to Yuuri’s official Instagram. He sends another, a bit more casual, to be sent to the personal account. 

They move to the table for the landing, buckling their seatbelts until they’re safely on the tarmac, and once he stands, Yuuri ventures a glance out the window. Following closely, Viktor does the same. The crowd waiting for them is relatively small, the press numbering far greater than the delegations sent to greet them, and far more enthusiastic besides. There are still a lot of people, though, and Viktor is grateful the public doesn't have access to the tarmac. 

It takes a few minutes for them to be asked to move to the front of the plane to disembark, and another few minutes until the door is opened. When it is, though, Viktor sees why they’d been asked to wait. There’s a carpet laid out, lined with soldiers in formal military dress, leading straight to the delegation greeting them. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri leans over, kisses Viktor on the lips with a smile, and squares his shoulders as they head out. 

 

Hana’s description was fairly accurate. Much of what they do on their way down the carpet is shake hands, smile and pose with officials. Yuuri listens intently to the interpreter he has, makes small talk and repeatedly thanks those greeting them as everyone does their best to impress him. With Viktor, however, the smiles are more genuine, their praise enthusiastic regarding his medals at Europeans and Worlds, and despite the pressure of an official visit, he’s finding comfort in the ebb and flow of Russian around him, in speaking his native language with more people than just the Palace Chef. Elena Andreyevna is great, but busy, and it’s just not the same as being in his home country. 

After a leisurely driving tour of St. Petersburg (Viktor being sure to point out his apartment building and the sports complex as they pass) they end up at a fancy restaurant for dinner with a few government officials, making nice while they drink expensive vodka in round after round of toasts. After the initial ‘thank you's for hospitality and a warm welcome, it’s Viktor and Yuuri’s turns to be the recipient of the toasts. Those in attendance laud Viktor’s achievements, welcome him home. They congratulate Yuuri on taking the throne (and he downs this shot with particular vehemence, Viktor notices,) and the peaceful beginning of his reign (if only they knew). Congratulations are then in order for their relationship, their happiness. Hopes for a good life for them, for a good continuation of Viktor’s career (and he knows Yuuri saw him down  _ that _ one quickly,) and for a long, peaceful rule. Almost like they assume a marriage. Viktor’s head swims, more from the stress than anything else. The alcohol  _ is _ getting to Yuuri, though he keeps it together marvelously through the meal. 

The last time Viktor had seen him this drunk he’d still managed to pole dance, so he doesn't entirely know why he’s surprised. When they finish, hands are shaken (and kissed,) and autographs are gotten, they’re released back to the motorcade that will finally take them to the hotel. Slightly tipsy, Yuuri slumps against him, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder. 

“Is this normal?” he asks.

“Pretty much,” Viktor responds. “Are you doing alright?”

Yuuri nods against his arm. “Bit drunk,” he says, “but I’m keeping it together.”

“Indeed, Velichestvo,” Viktor says as he kisses Yuuri’s hair through his circlet. “Will you be okay to walk up to the room?”

“‘M  _ fine, _ Vitya,” he murmurs as the lights of the Trinity Bridge flash across his face. With another kiss, Viktor settles into the soft leather. 

Pulling himself together by the end of the drive, Yuuri manages to appear his normal stately self, if a bit more tired than usual— easily attributed to jet lag. There’s a crowd lining the walkway when they arrive at the hotel, people holding banners bearing Viktor’s name. Yuuri looks at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You know who I am,” Viktor says. 

“True,” Yuuri responds. Sighing, he adjusts his tie. “Do I look drunk?” he asks. 

“No,” Viktor says. “Just remember not to grin or wave too enthusiastically and you'll be fine.” He echoes Minako’s instructions, knowing well how affectionate Yuuri can get when he has alcohol in him. 

Determined, Yuuri nods again as the car comes to a stop. He’s the first out, Viktor following closely behind, and they’re quickly approached by the Head of Staff, bowing and welcoming them to the hotel. Viktor gives the crowd a small wave, smiling, and the screams grow louder, the cheering more enthusiastic. Yuuri offers a nod himself, raising his hand in a wave as he smiles, and cameras flash in a blinding cacophony of light. Russia’s National Hero has returned, on his arm the Lost Prince of Sachima, now King.

They’re introduced to the upper-level staff and shown through the lobby to a private elevator, being told all the while about various services and accommodations available to them. Someone takes drink orders to relay to the staff for their suite, and after a check by the bodyguards accompanying them, they’re allowed into the elevator. 

Apparently, the Royal Suite includes a butler and 24-hour staff, taking up the entire upper floor of their hotel. After they exchange their shoes for plush slippers, the butler takes them on a tour, through the foyer, the sitting room with a piano, a dining room with a table that seats eight, an actual media room, and onto the terrace overlooking the city. The entire time, Yuuri grips Viktor by the arm. He manages the pretense of sobriety well, though, throughout the tour, tending towards keeping his mouth shut so he doesn't slip up at all. Finally, they’re shown to the bedrooms— a smaller one with two twin bed, upon which are suitcases, neatly laid out, and the large master bedroom, where their stuff has been unpacked and organized in a dressing room to the side. The tour concludes and the butler takes them back to the lounge, where two cocktails are sitting on a silver tray. Picking up the tray, the butler walks over to them and offers the drinks.

“Welcome to St. Petersburg, Your Majesty,” the butler says with a bow, “and welcome back, Mr. Nikiforov. It is an honor to be serving both of you during your stay. If I or my staff can be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to let us know. Regardless of the hour, we are at your service.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies, smiling as he takes his drink and sits in an armchair. Viktor takes his own, sitting on the couch. The butler bows again, and they’re left relatively alone. 

“Have you always stayed in suites like this?” Viktor asks, sitting in the chair next to Yuuri’s.

Yuuri nods. “When I travelled with my family, yes. When I was in hiding it would have brought far too much attention, so I stuck with regular suites on the rare occasion I stayed in a hotel.”

“I've always wondered what it was like to stay in one of these,” Viktor remarks as he sips his drink. “I did research, but never actually spent the money to do it.”

“You've never stayed in a suite like this?” Yuuri asks. When Viktor shakes his head, Yuuri's eyes widen. “I thought for sure you would have at some point.”

“Bit out of my price range with the amount of travelling I do, and I wouldn't have had time to enjoy it, besides. I'd always planned on doing it at some point, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuuri asks. 

Viktor nods. “I'd thought about taking you on a trip eventually,” he says, softly. “Taking you somewhere, splurging and getting us an incredible suite to enjoy while we saw the world. Before I knew.”

“A honeymoon?” Yuuri asks, hearing what Viktor had left unsaid. 

“I've considered proposing for… a while.” The confession brings a blush to Yuuri’s face, and he sips his drink. 

“I'd… given it some thought too,” Yuuri murmurs. “Nothing more than a passing fancy, though, I had too much else to focus on and thinking too much about it… I didn't want to get my hopes up. You still didn’t know and there was no guarantee you’d even think about staying.”

Reaching his hand out, Viktor takes Yuuri’s, rubbing his thumb along the back. Chef Elena pokes her head in from the service kitchen where she’s been getting things ready for breakfast. 

“Your Majesty, Viktor Alexandrovich, would either of you like something to eat before I go to my quarters?” she asks. Somehow it’s nice to hear the Russian form of formal address, and Viktor smiles as he shakes his head. 

“We’ll be alright, thanks,” Yuuri says. “I know everyone’s tired from travelling, you should rest. We'll see you at seven for breakfast?”

Nodding, she gives a small bow. “Good night, then, Your Majesty. Viktor Alexandrovich.  _ Dobroy nochi.”  _ She leaves them. Yuuri sinks further into his chair as they sip their cocktails. Though technically they’re still drinking, they’ve had enough food and enough time since the toasts that they’re only slightly buzzed. 

The sound of a keycard in the lock startles them, but Hana and Yulian walk in together, smiles on their faces. Hana waves as Yuuri relaxes.

“Hey, Majesty, we’re here,” she says, “how are you getting along?”

“Alright,” Yuuri says. “Free day would be nice.”

“Travel isn’t the place for it, Sire, I’m sorry.”

With a sigh, Yuuri nods. “Turning in then, Hana-nee?”

“I am, we all have an early day tomorrow. You ought to, too.”

Raising an eyebrow, Yuuri mutters under his breath as he finishes the last of his cocktail. “We’ll wind down soon, Hana-nee.”

With a slight bow and an affectionate smile, Hana says her good-nights, Yulian offering a cursory bow as well, and they retire to their bedroom. 

 

“They still have my comfy pj’s,” Yuuri gripes as he goes through the drawers in the dressing room. 

“I'd think for laundry purposes,” Viktor offers in response. “Look, they gave you t-shirts.” Yuuri smiles when he sees the stack Viktor is pointing at, grabbing one eagerly before settling on soft cotton drawstring pants. Really, it's not the comfort itself so much as the familiarity he’s missing, this being the first time he’s been away from home since he got back. No matter how much reassurance he gives himself, how much he gets from Hana, Viktor, and his family, he still can't quite make himself feel sure about their return, can't force himself to remember it will only be a week and a half, and that he’ll be coming home on schedule. That he’s not on the run, but on a trip.

They get dressed for bed, brush their teeth in the massive en-suite bathroom. They spend a few minutes on the terrace overlooking St. Petersburg, Viktor’s chest flush against Yuuri’s back, and he rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder as he points out landmarks. Yuuri’s hands rest gently on the arm Viktor has wrapped around his waist as he leans into him. Occasionally Yuuri asks a question or two, but mostly he spends the entire time listening to Viktor whisper memories into his ear as they watch the glittering lights below.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes up to the smell of sausages cooking and fresh coffee. Yuuri stirs next to him, burying his face into the pillow, but with a press of a button Viktor has the curtains opening, letting the morning sun in.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs against his fiancé’s lips, “time to get up.”

“No.” Pulling a pillow over his head, Yuuri makes his desire to sleep obvious. Viktor kisses his shoulder.

“Yuuuuuuri,” he says, drawing the word out on his tongue, “we’re going sightseeing today. I’m showing you St. Petersburg, you have to get up for that!”

Grumpy, Yuuri lifts the pillow enough for Viktor to see his scowl. Viktor smiles. “Solnyshko moyo, there you are.”

Yuuri raises one eyebrow, but doesn’t protest when Viktor kisses his nose. He does pout, pushing his lips out in silent request and as Viktor acquiesces, pressing his own against Yuuri’s, Yuuri wraps an arm around his waist. By the time they’ve pulled on bath robes, shared another kiss after they brushed their teeth, and made their way to the smaller dining table, Chef Elena’s laid out their breakfast and coffee. The presentation is refreshingly simple, and the food is just as good as it normally is. 

Hana comes in with their itinerary as they’re having their second cup of coffee. She’s accompanied by a valet, who heads straight to the bedroom to coordinate their outfits. Viktor looks over the printed schedule he’s been handed. It’s exactly what had been discussed before they’d left, but with specific security measures in place. They’ll be travelling with no fewer than six bodyguards with them at all times. It sounds almost oppressive, but they’ve been assured that two of those will be in plainclothes. They’ll only look like they’re with four, she emphasizes, and Viktor rubs his temple remembering Worlds. Four total had seemed like a lot, to him. Yuuri’s neither surprised about, nor against, the amount of security accompanying him and Viktor remembers Hiroko just minutes before he’d proposed.

_ “It honestly wouldn’t have occurred to Yuuri to think that bodyguards would be anything other than reassuring,” _ she’d said.  _ “That feeling of being guarded, needing to be protected, is… as normal as breathing.” _ Taking a deep breath, Viktor does his best to calm himself but he can’t help noticing Yuuri’s apparent nonchalance about finding out he’ll be having a six-person escort at all times. That  _ they’ll _ be having one. Sighing again, Viktor settles back in his chair remembering that when they’re separated he’ll have a minimum of two to begin with when he’s out and about. Likely four when he’s anywhere considered any sort of risk. Forcefully, he directs his attention back towards Hana before he starts thinking too hard about everything.

She’s staring at him. “Viktor,” she says, “are you alright?”

Mouth gaping, Viktor barely knows where to start before Yuuri leans over.

“Is it the bodyguard thing?” he asks, frowning. Viktor nods in response. Yuuri turns to Hana at the same time he takes Viktor’s hand, leaning forward to explain. “My mom said that whole being-protected thing,” he says, “is hard to adapt to if you’re not used to it? I mean, I can see why, I just… I’m guessing the number of bodyguards is getting to him. It's more than we usually have.”

Hana nods in sympathy. “I can’t imagine how it feels, Viktor; I’ve always been the one doing the guarding.”

In thanks, Viktor nods at her and gestures for her to keep briefing them. She does, and he takes his coffee, drains the rest of the cup and pours another while she tells them about the Winter Palace. The entire Hermitage has restricted public access in honor of Yuuri’s visit. Either Russia’s doing their best to give him a premier experience, or the Sachiman Royal Palace is that strict about security, but either way, they’ll be met by the museum curators and a guide boasting decades of experience and extensive knowledge about most everything in the Winter Palace. Part of Viktor wants to put it to the test, to ask the most obscure questions he can think of, but the last time he’d done that Yakov had chewed his ear off for a week. Now, there’s no Yakov involved, but there’s an entire Palace with a goal of making Viktor’s fiancé look as good as is humanly possible, and a good chunk of that rests on Viktor’s shoulders. His conduct here goes beyond himself, beyond Russia’s Living Legend just fooling around. It reflects on Yuuri, his love, his life. The King he intends to marry.

Yuuri’d mentioned on occasion feeling shackled by Royal Blood, and for the first time, Viktor starts to truly understand. Even in Russia, his home, in St. Petersburg, the city that has boasted about being the training grounds of Viktor Nikiforov for over a decade, he’s no longer allowed to act how he pleases without serious repercussions. After another cup and a half of coffee, they’ve made it through the briefing, and Hana goes to the other bedroom in the suite to shower and change, and Viktor does the same with Yuuri.

The suits laid out on the bed complement each other perfectly, both different greys with Yuuri’s darker, more serious and imposing, and Viktor’s only slightly lighter, but also paired with a lighter tie. The messages they send are clear, and the circlet Yuuri will be wearing only serves to emphasize his status. Yuuri’s in charge and Viktor, while important, isn’t quite at the same rank. He suspects this won’t be ending with their marriage.

Soon enough, they’re dressed and waiting in the lounge for whoever it is in charge of their movement to come tell them it’s time to leave.

 

~*~

 

By the time they get to the Hermitage, take photographs in the Palace Square, and have walked to the doors of the Winter Palace proper, Viktor’s feeling less uncomfortable. With the amount of Hermitage staff surrounding them as they walk, and the guide indeed knowledgeable and very eager to share, Viktor’s attention has effectively been taken from their security detail. The guide’s English is good, which means Yuuri’s interpreter is following dutifully with their other handlers, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice.

The saturated opulence of the Winter Palace is somehow a bit less impressive than it had seemed the last time Viktor was a visitor, though no less beautiful, and he’s taken aback for a moment. This sort of grandeur isn't anything he expected would become part of his day-to-day life, but here he is, visiting one palace while he technically lives in another. For all his talk about splitting his time between Hasetsu and St. Petersburg, there’s nothing for him here. Not outside of skating, he knows, and while he loves the city, would love to stay, he couldn't do so with Yuuri. His fiancé has a kingdom to rule, and to do so from a foreign country would be impossible. 

Walking up the [Jordan Staircase](http://hermitagemuseum.org/3d/html/pwoaen/main/index.html#node2), Viktor remembers their endless practices in Hasetsu. He wonders if Russia’s Imperial Family had dealt with the same sorts of routines, the same monotony in the midst of such splendor. Yuuri looks impressed, interestingly enough, though not with that discomforted awe that often accompanies being in a space like this. Though he’d been away from home for a while, living as a commoner, this sort of status, this sort of opulence is what he’d gotten used to first and there’d been a time in his life where it had been all he’d ever known. 

They stop for a few photos at the top of the staircase and when Viktor looks at them, both he and Yuuri manage to look like they  _ belong. _ Minako’s training is effective, the habits Viktor has gotten into are affecting him beyond just when he’s at court, and he knows even if he wanted to give it all up, there’d be no going back to how things were. Just as well. He’s happy in his new life, as stressful as it is, and he takes Yuuri’s arm as they walk through a set of doors.

“I know this room,” Yuuri says softly as they enter the [Pavilion Hall](http://hermitagemuseum.org/3d/html/pwoaen/main/index.html#node15). He looks up at the gilded columns, the chandeliers dripping crystals overhead and towards the windows lining both sides of the room. Carefully, slowly, he moves through the space, across the intricate wooden flooring and over carpet laid along the length of it.

“It’s one of the most famous stops in the palace,” Viktor replies. “Visiting heads of state were usually brought through here.” The guide next to Yuuri looks like he wants to add something, but stops when Yuuri’s eyes widen and he pulls his cell phone from the inner pocket of his jacket, typing something on the screen. After a minute of scrolling, re-typing, and scrolling again, he taps an image and smiles. When he holds up the phone, the black and white picture onscreen shows an older man dressed in a military uniform smiling and shaking hands with the last Tsar of Russia. 

“That’s my… great-great-grandfather,” Yuuri says, after a second of thought. “We have a copy of this picture in one of the parlors.” Holding up the phone, he compares the picture to the room itself, walking around until he comes to a stop about fifteen feet away. Viktor moves to stand with him. “They were right there,” Yuuri says, pointing, “and the picture was taken from here.”

Glancing between the photo and the spot Yuuri indicated, next to an intricate mosaic on the floor, Viktor can almost picture the men standing before him. In the photo, the grand duchesses stand to the side with their mother and younger brother, similarly to the way a woman stands next to Yuuri’s grandfather, holding an infant. “That’s my dad’s grandpa,” Yuuri says, pointing at the child.

Yuuri walks over, placing himself roughly in the same place as his great-great-grandfather. Looking around, he takes in the room from his new perspective. “He was right here,” he says softly. Gesturing to his side, he looks at Viktor, “and this is where Tsar Nicholas was.” Viktor walks over slowly, coming to stand at the spot indicated. Looking out, he can see why it was heads of state were brought here, how the feel of the room directed attention at its inhabitants if you stood in the right place. A sense of profound awe washes over him as he takes a moment to really think about the centuries of a rich history that took place in the space he’s in, in the very spot in which he finds himself.

Now, he stands where an Emperor once stood, long since removed from power, next to the direct descendant and successor of the King greeting him in the picture. If Russia still had an Imperial Family, there might have been similar photos of Yuuri. He looks back down, meeting Yuuri’s eyes, and they share an understanding gaze before Yuuri moves closer, stopping inches away. Looking around, he sighs before backing up a step. 

“Your Majesty?” Hana’s voice breaks through their thoughts.

“Yeah?” Yuuri says, crossing his arms.

“I thought it might be prudent to remind you, Sire, that you’re not in the public eye at the moment, per se. The only cameras here belongs to our official photographer and those of the Hermitage, and you have final say over which pictures make it to publication.” Smiling, she nods at Viktor. “It’s a lovely day to spend with a significant other, don’t you think?”

Yuuri barely contains an excited grin. “Your reminder is appreciated, Hana-san. Thank you.” Moving forward again, he rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder. Rubbing his back, Viktor pulls him as close as he dares, before kissing his hair softly.

A moment later, Yuuri pulls away, looking back at their guide. “We’re ready,” he says, “if you’d like to continue.”

The guide nods, before turning on his heel. As they walk, Hana sidles up next to Yuuri. “You can be his boyfriend on this trip, you know,” she says quietly in his ear.

“Not according to the palace,” Yuuri replies. “Propriety and decorum and all that… stuff.”

“Your Majesty,” she whispers, “they’re mostly trying to make sure no one gets pictures of you two enthusiastically making out.”

Yuuri makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Hana-san, why?”

“Sorry, Sire,” she replies, apologetically. “Time and a place.” Yuuri only nods in response, rubbing his thumb over the back of Viktor’s hand. Viktor gives a squeeze, smiling when it’s returned, and they move on to listen to the guide explain some portrait or another. Resisting the urge to tune the guide out is difficult, Viktor having heard the spiel several times before on earlier visits. It’s easier when Yuuri starts chiming in, asking about various subjects and how they related to the crown. He’s got a good head for political science and history, and it’s rarely shined so brightly as it is now.

Standing back, Vitkor watches as Yuuri engages with the tour guide, who is seemingly very happy with having an enthusiastic audience for once. There’s a smile on Viktor’s face; fond, loving, and he sees a similar one on Hana as she walks over.

“He’s truly amazing,” she says softly, “don’t you think?”

“He doesn’t give himself enough credit,” Viktor whispers in response. Politics may not have been Yuuri’s first love, but he certainly is passionate about them and history, and he’s regurgitating names and dates with his own additional analysis like it’s nothing.

“To be fair,” Hana says, “he’s never engaged like this before. He’s never been  _ allowed  _ to. Couldn’t show off too much in school in case it made people suspicious.” She sighs. “One time he accidentally corrected a tour guide who said his name wrong. He thought for sure we were going to have to move after that.”

“Did you?” Viktor asks, because while Yuuri will readily discuss his early childhood, and his time with Phichit, he tends to avoid the details of his late childhood and adolescence on the rare occasion the topic comes up.

“We didn’t,” Hana says, “but only because the Palace didn’t find out.” They start moving again, Yuuri chatting animatedly with the guide as they walk.

“You didn’t tell them?”

A stony look comes over her face. “No. I didn’t. Kid had been through more than enough at that point, I wasn’t about to make it worse.”

“How old was he?” Viktor asks softly. Yuuri’s now discussing a ceremonial something-or-other, hands moving gracefully through the air as he gestures.

“Sixteen,” Hana replies. “He covered it well enough, there was no reason for the guide to be suspicious, but the Palace is… cautious, for lack of a better word.”

“I’ve gotten that impression,” Viktor says.

Hana snorts under her breath. “I can imagine. They literally wouldn't allow His Majesty to introduce you and me, and I'm more than adept at disguise. I could have ensured you didn't recognize me.”

“I don't think I would have said anything, not unless we were alone.”

“Still,” Hana says, “there were enough plots over the years that any potential breach in security was too much. Phichit… I had a short discussion with the security team, and it was during a calmer period, so they weren’t… as paranoid. After that, though, things ramped up again. Pushing the envelope where you were concerned could have ended badly.” She nods in Yuuri’s direction. “The only reason  _ he _ didn't get us in trouble was his position, especially as the King’s health declined, but if I'd tried it would have put them on higher alert, likely have made them force a move. He would have been devastated.”

“You didn’t only protect him from the threats, did you?” Viktor asks with new understanding.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then a sigh. “No,” Hana responds. “I did what I could in  _ all _ areas of His Majesty’s life, though some endeavors were more successful than others.”

Nodding, Viktor finds his attention pulled away when Yuuri walks over, offering his arm. “They’re ready to take us through the rest of the Palace,” he says, smiling.

Viktor gives a short nod, threading his arm through Yuuri’s, and they walk alongside the tour guide as they commence a thorough description of the varying styles in architecture throughout the palace, getting into the history of things, and Viktor holds in a sigh, plasters on a smile, and does his best to look interested.

 

~*~

 

“I don’t—” Yuuri hiccups, rubbing his nose and face. “I don’t understand why this is… I've been trained for this, I've been taught what to do I've—”

“Breathe,” Viktor says, putting Yuuri’s hand on his chest. “Breathe with me.” They’d been on a walking tour along the Neva after a morning of touring a school and a long lunch, exploring various shop fronts when they’d gotten forcefully separated from their bodyguards by a crowd and dumped into some sort of event with press. Naturally, Viktor and Yuuri make for a more compelling story than whatever local art show was on, and with no bodyguards immediately available to stop them from getting mobbed, they’d ended up having to run as fast and far as they could before finding a hiding place.

“Breathe with me,” Viktor repeats, pressing his palm against Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri nods, doing his best to steady himself. The occasional hiccup causes him to jump, but they slow as his breaths do. The bathroom they’ve locked themselves in, fortunately, has a good air freshener. Viktor smiles when Yuuri looks up. “Maybe call our bodyguards? Ask them to come get us?”

Nodding, Yuuri pulls out his phone, typing up a message before pursing his lips. “Would you be able to tell them where we are?” he asks, holding his phone out. 

Viktor takes the phone, typing in their rough location in Cyrillic and English before passing it back. 

“I hate this,” Yuuri says while they wait. His voice trembles almost as much as his hands. “I miss just being able to do what I want without worrying so much about the fucking press.” He’s still shaking, wrapped in Viktor’s arms as he is, and Viktor does his best to rub his back soothingly. 

“I'm sorry,” Viktor whispers. Part of him is sure this had very little to do with Yuuri and a lot to do with  _ him.  _

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Yuuri replies, voice soft. “I knew this was a possibility. I should have been prepared.” 

“Yuuri, I’m… I’m  _ me, _ Yuuri, I’m not exactly  _ invisible _ here.” He echoes Yuuri’s words in the airport in an effort to make him understand, but instead of taking them to heart, Yuuri goes back to blaming himself.

“I  _ know _ who you are,” Yuuri says, “and I know how much Russia loves you. I should have  _ accounted _ for this!”

Trapping a stronger protest behind clenched teeth, Viktor sighs. “There’s only so prepared you can be for something like this, Yuuri.”

“I’m a  _ king, _ I’m running a  _ country, _ I should be able to run away from the media as well! I mean, most of them are carrying equipment!” He’s starting to work himself into a panic again, pacing back and forth across the bathroom. “And Minako  _ trained _ me and it’s not like I haven’t been in front of the press all the time recently. I’ve done it before, I’ve held my composure, and I don’t- I-I never—”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “being at a press conference or somewhere you know cameras will be is different than being chased down a street in an unfamiliar country.”

“Not _ that _ different,” Yuuri says. “Either way, it’s the pre—”

“It  _ is _ different,” Viktor interrupts. “Yuuri, I’ve been doing press most of my life. I’ve been in every press situation imaginable. It’s much easier when you know they’ll be there. Much easier when you know how they’ll behave.  _ This _ is chaos,” he says, gesturing at the locked door. “This is terrifying.”

Yuuri eyes the doorway as well. No one’s pounded on the door yet. There have been no attempts to get in, but there’s also no way of knowing whether they’ve lost the press, or if the whole lot of them are just waiting outside, in hopes Viktor and Yuuri will let their guards down. Opening the door could lead to freedom, or further invasion, and neither of them want to take the chance.

Pacing a line in the floor, Yuuri tries to breathe, tries to calm himself. “Vitya how were you… in Ostrava, how were you ok with this? How were you so calm?”

“I know how to look like I’m keeping my cool. I’ve had practice, but I was terrified, Yuuri.” It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, the first time he’s acknowledged it to anyone else. “I’m not used to  _ this. _ I’ve been chased before but not… not like this. Not since Europeans, and never before that.”

When he looks up, Yuuri’s staring at him. Tears spill out of his eyes, wetting long tracks on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Vityusha, my Vitya, I’m so…  _ sorry.” _

“What do you mean,  _ sorry? _ You didn’t do anything.”

“It’s my fault, Vitya. If I wasn’t… if I wasn’t  _ me…  _ If you weren’t  _ with _ me, you wouldn’t be—”

“No, Yuuri! I’m not  _ blaming _ you.  _ You _ shouldn’t blame you! I’ve been a public figure for far longer than I've known you, and even so, I made this choice. I made this decision to be with you.”

“You didn’t know who I  _ was _ when we got together!”

“I knew who you were when I made the commitment to  _ stay, _ Yuuri. I knew when I asked you to marr—” Cutting himself off, Viktor looks around. It’s unlikely there are bugs in the restroom but he doesn’t know if there’s press outside and if there is, he doesn’t know how sensitive the microphones are. Yuuri purses his lips, understanding the concern. Reaching out with one hand, he pulls Viktor to the far end of the bathroom, hoisting himself to sit on a counter. Viktor moves forward, slotting himself between Yuuri’s legs and wrapping his arms around him.

Yuuri leans forward, draping his arms around Viktor’s waist while he rests his forehead on Viktor’s chest. When his phone buzzes, he pulls it between their bodies to read the screen. “They’ll be here in a minute,” he says, “and they’re not thrilled with me bolting.” 

“The media came after us, and we’re not supposed to try to keep ourselves safe?”

“We have procedures. I should have gone a certain direction, I should have found a rendezvous point, I shouldn’t have  _ panicked, _ Viktor and if the press is enough to make me—” he’s taking heaving breaths now, but puts his hand back on Viktor’s chest in a silent request.

Putting his hand over Yuuri’s, Viktor breathes deeply. “Both of us have been briefed, both of us ran. You won't be the only one in trouble. We can discuss this when you’re calm, Lyubov. Is that okay?” Viktor asks on an exhale. Yuuri nods, gulping air as best he can. “Do you have your meds?”

Yuuri shakes his head, twisting the fabric of Viktor’s shirt in his fingers. “In the car,” he says, voice quiet, flat as it echoes on the tile. “Couldn’t take them anyway, not until I’m back at the hotel. They make me too drowsy.”

He curls into himself, forcing his fingers to flatten once more as Viktor presses his hand close. Viktor breathes. Yuuri doesn’t. “With me, Yuuri,” he says, “come on,” grateful when he sees the steady rise and fall of Yuuri’s shoulders.

Using his free hand to pull free a paper towel, Viktor holds it low enough to be in Yuuri’s line of vision. It’s taken in short order, Yuuri dabbing at his face while Viktor keeps breathing regularly. They both jump when Yuuri’s phone goes off, and Yuuri taps at the screen a few times before putting it down. “They wanted to know where specifically we are, they should be here soon.”

Yuuri spends the next couple of minutes trying to wrangle himself into something presentable, before there’s a patterned knock on the door. It repeats once before Yuuri does a patterned knock in return. There’s another, shorter one from the other side, and Yuuri unlocks the door, pulling it open. Several suited bodyguards enter, hands over the holsters hidden under their jackets. One checks the bathroom stalls, another takes up a post outside the entrance. Yuuri answers the questions they have for him calmly, but his hand stays firmly around Viktor’s, grounding himself.

They’re soon shuttled from the bathroom to the waiting car, Viktor grateful to see they’d either lost the media, or the vultures had been told to clear off. Yuuri gets into the back with Viktor, and when the doors are shut and tinted windows guarantee their privacy, he leans on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispers into Viktor’s shirt. A few minutes into the drive he pulls off his suit jacket and tie, draping both across the seat in front of them before nestling himself under Viktor’s arm. The wool of his waistcoat is soft as Viktor rubs circles on his back, paying special attention to what bits of Yuuri’s shoulders he can access. The woman sitting in the row in front of them turns.

“Your Majesty,” she says, “I feel compelled to remind you that security measures are in place for a reason.”

Yuuri stiffens and looks up. Taking a deep breath, he levels her with a glare. “I am more than aware of the security procedures, and will be glad to discuss them at a later time, once I’ve had a few minutes of peace.”

“Sire, I thought it prudent—”

“I just ran something like three miles trying to escape the media. I would like some time before you try to lecture me like the errant child you seem to think I am!” Still anxious, Yuuri’s lashing out, and Viktor rubs his shoulder as he pulls him closer.

“My apologies, Sire,” she says, turning to face the front. The rest of the drive is spent in an uncomfortable silence, and Yuuri sighs with relief as they approach the front entrance of the hotel he’s staying at. The media is present, but has been forced well away from the main entrance by a combination of hotel security and Yuuri’s own. Yuuri grabs the messenger bag he stowed in the car, carrying extra chargers, the papers he’s been working through in his spare time, and his meds. He’s just about to put it over his shoulder when the woman clears her throat.

“I’d be happy to take your bag, Sire, if it pleases you.” 

Yuuri’s eyes move between her and his bag repeatedly, before he turns to look at the waiting crowd. Nodding, he holds the strap out. “See to it this makes it to my room when I do, if not before,” he orders. She gives a slight bow, taking the bag and pulling it onto her lap.

“Absolutely, Your Majesty.”

Putting his tie on, Yuuri struggles with shaking fingers before looking plaintively at Viktor. With a reassuring smile, Viktor ties it quickly and tucks it into Yuuri’s waistcoat. As he finishes straightening up Yuuri glances nervously out the windows. He’s just pulling his jacket on when the car comes to a stop. They wait while his bodyguards get out of the car behind them, coming to stand outside of the door in preparation for their walk in. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri steels himself before shifting closer to the door and making one last check to be sure his tie is straight, his hands moving to his hair to make a minute adjustment to the circlet. One more breath, and Yuuri nods for the door to be opened.

It’s not as bad as Viktor expected, though the shouts of the press can be heard even from so far away. Yuuri keeps his eyes forward, walking into the lobby with his head held high. Staff members stop what they're doing and greet him as he makes his way to the elevator they’ve designated for his use, and while he responds with a nod, there’s no stopping to talk or shake hands. Viktor stays a step behind, flashing smiles and nodding at those they walk past. He’s tempted to wave like he usually does, but the austere manner in which Yuuri’s striding through the hotel makes him not want to draw more attention than necessary.

They come to a stop near the elevator, and Yuuri subtly rocks back and forth on his heels as they wait. His shoulders relax as they’re surrounded by their bodyguards, and when the elevator doors open, two go in, hands on their guns, and wave them in. The rest of their entourage follows, forming a thick barrier between Yuuri and the doors. Once the elevator’s closed, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand, squeezing it and running his thumb along the back as he does his best to breathe steadily, to stay calm. Viktor returns the gesture in silent reassurance, and Yuuri doesn’t let go when they get out of the elevator. Hand in hand, they walk to his room, waiting as a bodyguard unlocks the door.

Safely inside, Yuuri first goes to the bathroom. The sink runs for far longer than it should to wash his hands, and when he comes out he’s taken off his suit jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, leaving only his undershirt, and his hair, gel rinsed out, is wet and dripping onto his glasses. The room is silent as he makes his way to his bag, pulling out the bottle of pills. “I’d appreciate water,” he says to no one in particular, “a bottle is fine.” One of the men standing near the entrance walks over to the service kitchen, coming out with a chilled glass bottle and handing it to Yuuri.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says in response, uncapping it and taking half a pill. After a few more gulps of water, he looks at his entourage. “I understand,” he says slowly, “that security procedures are in place. I understand that it would have been a better course of action to go to an established rendezvous point. I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused, but I don’t… I don’t need a lecture right now. We can discuss security tomorrow morning before Vitya and I go out. I would like to be left alone, I won’t be leaving the suite again tonight.”

Everyone looks at each other in vague bafflement, before the woman from earlier steps forward. “Understood, Your Majesty. Would you like dinner brought for yourself and Mr. Nikiforov? We can call Chef Elena in.”

“That won’t be necessary, it’s her night off.” Turning towards Viktor, he says, “would you be willing to give them information about food? Where to get it from, what to order?”

“What would you like, Velichestvo?” Viktor asks.

“Anything. Get me your favorite,” Yuuri says. “Something you think I'd like.”

Viktor smiles.

 

Despite his best efforts, Yuuri is drowsy, leaning against Viktor’s side when the food arrives. He grumbles unhappily when he has to move, standing to put his robe on over his pajamas as he scowls at the ground. They’re served in the suite’s dining room, the table set nicely with fresh flowers in the center. The hotel’s waitstaff brings the meal in, having served it on heated plates upon its arrival. The butler assigned to the suite follows, wine list in hand. 

Yuuri looks it over, eyes blinking owlishly behind blue-rimmed lenses as their water glasses are filled. He looks at the food Viktor ordered, a hearty beef stew with what Viktor has judged to be the best seasoning in St. Petersburg, and points at a nice red. “This one good?” he asks. 

“It is,” Viktor replies. 

The butler leaves once Yuuri gives the order, coming back shortly with the bottle and two crystal glasses. He makes a show of the uncorking the Bordeaux, pouring each glass with an elegant flourish before bowing. “Would Your Royal Majesty like me to leave the bottle on the table or with the waitstaff?”

“On the table is fine,” Yuuri says. “I'd… appreciate being left alone with Mr. Nikiforov, please. You may bring the dessert course in forty minutes. I'll call for you if I need anything before that.” His tone isn’t harsh, but it doesn't allow for argument.

The butler bows again. “Of course, Sire. I hope your dinner is to your liking. I and my staff will return at the requested time.”

Yuuri nods and waves a dismissal. Within seconds they’re alone, and Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief as he picks up his spoon. “I was hoping for the styrofoam,” he says, shoving a piece of potato in his mouth. 

“Really?”

“It's weird what you miss sometimes, leaving a life behind.” He takes a sip of the wine. “This  _ is _ good.”

“Did you just pick a random one?”

Yuuri nods. “We focused more on the whole ‘ruling the country’ thing than wine pairings,” he mutters. “You know more about that stuff than I do. That, and I'm tired.”

“I can tell, Lyubov. Eat.”

Nodding sleepily, Yuuri puts another spoonful in his mouth. “You know how I said I don't mind the press?  Like, forever ago?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Fuck the press.”

Viktor chuckles. The stew is warm and hearty over rice, the rolls soft, and they eat in relative silence. Yuuri finishes the rest of his wine, but doesn’t pour another glass, instead switching to water. He does pour Viktor’s next glass, and the one after that. Viktor eats, more than famished after the day’s activities. Unable to finish his food, Yuuri is tearing his roll into pieces over what’s left of his stew, dropping them in once they get too small to tear further when the butler enters once more. 

“Your Majesty, are you ready for the dessert course?” Yuuri gestures permission for staff to clear the dishes. 

“What are we having again?” Yuuri asks Viktor as the waitstaff make short work of the table. 

“Trubochki,” he answers. “Like cannoli.”

“I like cannoli.” It’s clear Yuuri’s barely holding on to consciousness, so Viktor takes the lead. 

Looking up at the butler, he nods. “We’ll take dessert. Coffee service as well, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Nikiforov.” He bows in their direction and leaves, followed by the waitstaff, and they’re left alone again. 

“Coffee’s a good idea, Vitya,” Yuuri says. “I like coffee. I miss my coffee.”

“We can make some when we get back to Hasetsu.”

“It's not the same,” Yuuri mutters. “Never gonna be, especially not after all of this bullshit.” Though he frowns for a moment, he smiles when their food is brought in, the silver of the coffee carafe gleaming in the low light as everything is set out on the table. After pouring himself a cup, Yuuri mixes in cream and sugar, taking a big whiff before he drinks. Viktor prepares his own, with less sugar and cream than normal to offset the sweet creamy filling of the trubochki. 

Abandoning all pretense, Yuuri pulls his legs up onto the chair, resting his chin on his knees in between bites. “These are good,” he murmurs. Viktor’s inclined to agree. The pastry is perfectly light, the cream sweet but not overwhelmingly so. It balances well with the bitterness of the coffee. When they’re done, Yuuri stacks the dishes out of habit, half-asleep as he is, and they go by the spare bedroom to say good night to Hana and Yulian, before heading to the comfort of their own. 

 

~*~

 

Yuuri is woken early the next morning— far too early for it to be anything less than urgent. Viktor follows him into the other room, wrapping his dressing gown around himself and yawning as he gives a coffee order to an attendant standing nearby.

“What do you mean, ‘indisposed’?” Yuuri asks. “How?”

“Severe abdominal pain, Sire, they’re running a toxicology report right now,” Hana answers.

“What have they consumed? Do I need to be worried?”

“No, Sire,” she says. “The guard in question had the day off, yesterday, took the liberty of indulging in quite a bit of local fare around St. Petersburg, but there’s no way whatever caused this could also affect you.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, “course of action? What has my uncle recommended? Are we to go home?”

“No, Sire,” Hana answers. “As this could very well have natural causes, perhaps overeating or drinking or something of the sort, they have no reason to believe you’re under threat. His Royal Highness the Grand Duke has expressed his concerns to the security team, and they will be looking into sending extra security.”

“What information do we have about who they may be sending?”

An attendant with a small silver tray comes over with Viktor’s latte, piping hot and sweetened to perfection, he finds when he tastes it. He whispers his thanks and they leave with a bow.

Hana sighs. “None, at the moment. I imagine things are in a bit of an upheaval out there, what with so many people on this trip and now more being sent while Their Royal Highnesses is scrambling to pull things together to get the case against Takeda… resources are likely tight, Sire.”

“So we have no idea who’s going to show up?” Yuuri asks.

“We’re still not sure they’re sending someone. If the guard feels better tomorrow there will be no need for extra security. For now,” she says, “we’ll be continuing as normal.”

“Will we still be able to go out today?” he asks. “I was to be allowed a casual day, where I could just… You know.”

“There are no foreseeable problems with that, Sire, rest assured.”

Yuuri nods. They’re to have an free day of sorts, where they go out incognito. They hadn’t had time to see the Hermitage museum during their tour of the Winter Palace, and as Alexei was involved in some incredible finds there, Viktor’s been looking forward to showing Yuuri. He wishes he could bring his brother, too. Alexei’s stories are incredible, his travels and experiences as an archaeologist fascinating to hear about. Still, he’s looking forward to their date of sorts. Bodyguards will be in plainclothes, blending into their surroundings rather than forming an impenetrable wall, and all in all the experience should be far more lax than most of their appearances.

Guards will still be close at hand, though, especially after the problems with the media. The Palace won't risk another incident of the sort, and they've been drilled extensively, again, in where to go and what to do in case of a repeat. 

 

Yuuri finds it fun to be incognito, taking particular delight in the jeans and converse he’s allowed to wear. Glasses and a button-up with rolled-up sleeves mean he’s looking more like the Yuuri Viktor remembers from Detroit. As they walk, Yuuri allows his posture to relax a bit, letting the mantle of King slip off his shoulders for now as he threads his fingers through Viktor’s. They wait in line for the museum like any other couple, Yuuri pays for their tickets with his debit card, and it’s almost a painful sort of familiarity. Once they’re in, they grab brochures and wait discreetly for their bodyguards to get inside. Once they’ve made eye contact and been signalled, they grin at each other and head off. 

Holding hands, they wander through history, Yuuri occasionally googling something on his phone for more information. Viktor keeps his hair under his beanie as best he can, avoiding notice by most people. The two or three who recognize him seem to understand his desire for secrecy, offering a smile and a nod in lieu of approaching him.

They find themselves wandering an exhibit featuring Byzantine artifacts, hand in hand. 

“—Nikiforov?” Turning around, Viktor’s eyes widen. He should have expected that someone would eventually approach. 

“Yes?” He manages to keep the surprise out of his voice. In front of him stands a young woman. 

“Hi,” she says in Russian, brushing her hair behind her ear. _ “Um, I'm a huge fan, and I was wondering if you would sign an autograph for me?” _

_ “Of course,”  _ Viktor responds. 

She rummages through papers and notebooks in her bag.  _ “Sorry,” _ she mutters as she looks for something for him to sign,  _ “anyway I'm a huge fan of your work. The paper you wrote on stratification and using geophysics to aid with more precise placement of trenches in archaeological digs is just—” _

_ “Wait a second,” _ Viktor says, realization dawning,  _ “do you think I'm  _ Alexei _ Nikiforov?” _

_ “Are you not?”  _ She asks, eyes wide. 

Grinning, Viktor shakes his head.  _ “I'm his twin brother, Viktor. The figure skater.” _

_ “Oh, sorry, I don't really pay attention to figure skating,” _ she says sheepishly, closing her bag. 

_ “It’s alright,”  _ Viktor replies,  _ “if you’d like, I can give you his professional email. If you send a selfie we took, I'm sure he’ll send you a message back.” _

_ “Would your friend be willing to take it?”  _ she asks.

Viktor looks at Yuuri. “Lyubov, will you take pictures of us?” he says in English. 

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “Of course!” He holds out his hand. 

Viktor looks at the girl, smiling.  _ “Do you mind if I take one, too? I won’t post it on Instagram if you don’t want, it’s no problem.” _

“I speak English,” she says clearly. “It is not good, but I can speak. Posting is fine. Please take picture on my phone?”

Yuuri nods, taking both phones and letting Viktor and the girl get into place. He takes both photos, handing each phone to its respective owner. Viktor pulls out the business cards Alexei had given him for this purpose, handing one over with a smile. “It's nice to meet you,” he says. 

“Pleasure. I am Ekaterina.”

“That's my sister’s name,” Viktor responds. She smiles, holding her hand out to Yuuri. 

“You are?”

With a smile that’s more genuine than not, Yuuri shakes her hand. “I'm Yuuri… Katsuki,” he says and a small wave of nostalgia hits Viktor. The name still rolls easily off his tongue, more naturally, sometimes, than his own title.

Ekaterina smiles, nodding. “Nice to meet you both. I need to leave but I will email Dr. Nikiforov. Thank you.”

“He’ll be glad to hear he has a fan,” Viktor replies, still vaguely in shock. Giving a shy wave, she leaves. 

“What was that about?” Yuuri asks. 

“She thought I was Lyosha.”

“What?”

A grin spreading across his face, Viktor pulls Yuuri towards him. “She thought I was my brother.” He’s laughing, and Yuuri joins in.

“How often does that happen?” Yuuri asks a few minutes later. 

“This is the third time since I moved away from Yekaterinburg,” Viktor replies. 

“I've never actually been confused for anyone,” Yuuri remarks absently. “I mean, one time someone in my social studies class joked about me having the same name as the Crown Prince of Sachima and what if I was secretly Royalty? I don't think that counts, though.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “So he was joking about what if you were… you.”

With a snort, Yuuri nods, smiling up at him. “Pretty much. It was a bit terrifying, at the time, but now it’s just funny.”

Wrapping his arm around Yuuri, Viktor pulls him towards a glass case full of glimmering golden bracelets, encrusted with gems. Viktor points one out. 

“Lyosha found that one,” he says. “Apparently he’d been ankle-deep in mud at the bottom of a trench for weeks when this practically got caught on his toe?”

Yuuri chuckles. “Sounds amazing. To be so close to history like that, you know?”

“Says the person who showed me a picture of his grandfather with the last tsar of Russia.”

“Great-great-grandfather,” Yuuri corrects. “And this is different. This is  _ centuries _ ago.”

Viktor raises one eyebrow. “Didn't you literally know the man who ‘took back’ your nation? That's what I was told when I got to Hasestsu.”

Yuuri pouts, but concedes the point with a nod. “Fine, you win,” he says, kissing Viktor’s cheek. “Didn't you have a statue or something you wanted to show me?”

“Ah, yes!” Viktor puts his arm around his fiancé once more, and leads him out of the room. 

 

~*~

 

That night, rather than eating out, Yuuri comes to Viktor’s apartment. He’s staying the night, with their bodyguards in an apartment nearby and running surveillance. Viktor runs to the local shop with Yulian, picks up fresh produce and meat for their dinner. When he comes back, Yuuri and Hana are looking over a small selection of handguns. 

Stopping short, Viktor stares at his table. 

“No one will be in the apartment with us,” Yuuri says tentatively, “so they want me armed tonight. Is that okay with you?”

Nodding, Viktor moves to put the ingredients on the kitchen counter. Yuuri loads the gun with a practiced motion and clicks the safety on before putting it in the holster laying to the side and watching Hana put the rest back in the case she'd presumably brought them in. She kisses Yuuri’s forehead and gives Viktor a hug before leaving with a reminder about the briefing tomorrow morning.

When they’re left alone, Yuuri takes one glance at his overnight bag and looks back up at Viktor. “You still have pj’s here?” 

Smiling, Viktor nods and vanishes into the bedroom. He walks out with black gym shorts and his Russian Olympic Team T-shirt, holding them both out. Yuuri lays them over the back of the couch and strips in the living room, pulling the pj's on and tying the drawstring on the shorts to be sure they stay put. He’s got slippers back on and is wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist in no time. 

“Whatcha makin’?” he asks. 

“Dinner,” Viktor says with a laugh. “Why don't you grab a cutting board and help with these potatoes?”

“I dunno,” Yuuri jokes, “I think according to the Palace, that’s classified as too risky f—”

“Oh hush, Yuuri; help me get this roast in the oven.”

Chuckling, Yuuri grabs a spare apron, tying it around his waist in a practiced motion. It brings a nostalgic smile to his face, and he kisses Viktor before clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He selects a knife and cutting board, taking a moment to watch Viktor demonstrate before taking the bowl of peeled potatoes and replicating it as best he can while Viktor gets the onions and other root vegetables. 

With the amount of practice Viktor has, he’s not surprised that Yuuri still has a few potatoes to go when he’s done. Reaching for the bowl, however, earns him a swat on the hand. 

“It's a matter of principle, Vitya.”

“Of course, Spud Master,” Viktor laughs. Yuuri sticks his tongue out, but as Viktor watches him cut the last few, he can see noticeable improvement. When he says so, the tips of Yuuri’s ears go red as he moves the pieces into the roasting pan. 

“I had a good coach,” Yuuri murmurs as he puts the equipment into the sink. Viktor hugs him from behind, kisses his jaw and whispers an ‘I love you’ before finishing getting their food ready for the oven. 

“Can we make rolls?” Yuuri asks. 

“Of course,” Viktor replies. 

Yuuri makes an attractive picture with his arms buried in bread dough, muscles flexing as he kneads it to Viktor’s specifications. They curl up on the couch together while the dough rises, Yuuri laying down on Viktor while he finishes the last chapter of the book he’d been reading before heading back from Nationals. Yuuri has fun kneading the dough again, taking some delight in forming the rolls, lining them up on the baking sheet in neat rows to proof. 

 

“I miss your roasts,” Yuuri says absently while Viktor serves them up. 

“Then take the plates to the table while I put the rolls in a bowl, silverware is in the drawer next to the sink.” He holds out the food, and Yuuri moves dutifully to put it at their places. Silverware follows, the rolls are taken when Viktor holds the bowl out, and when Viktor sets two shot glasses and a bottle of his best vodka on the table as they sit down, Yuuri raises an eyebrow. 

_ “Dobro pozhalovat' v Rossiyu,” _ Viktor says. 

“‘Welcome to Russia’ indeed,” Yuuri replies, pouring them each a shot. “To… to us,” he says, holding his up. 

“To us,” Viktor echos, smiling and taking the shot with Yuuri, “and your interesting command of Russian, Lyubov. Are you learning?”

Blushing, Yuuri nods. “Minako-sensei’s ballet friend has been helping me learn. And the chef, some.”

“You could have asked me, you know,” Viktor pouts, spearing a piece of potato with his fork.

“You have a lot on your mind,” Yuuri says, “but, if it’s something you’d like to do I'd love to learn your language.”

Delighted, Viktor kisses him. “I'd love that!” While Viktor is learning Sachiman Japanese out of necessity, there’s something intensely romantic about Yuuri taking the time to learn Russian, and Viktor tells him so with a kiss, a gentle caress on the cheek. They end up taking their plates to sit on the couch and watch a movie while they eat, Yuuri curling up against Viktor’s side when he’s done. 

 

~*~

 

Breakfast the next morning is blini, with tea made using the samovar Viktor’s mothers had bought him as a housewarming gift. 

“Would Yakov approve of this?” Yuuri asks him as he takes the jam from Viktor. 

“Yakov will understand,” Viktor responds, kissing Yuuri’s nose. “Anyway, how am I supposed to be a good host if I don't treat you to good Russian food? Hospitality is key, Yuuri!”

Yuuri snorts. “Nice way of saying his opinion doesn't matter.”

“He gave up years ago.” Nudging Yuuri with his hip, Viktor sends him to the table to set the jam down. Knocks on the front door pull their attention, and Viktor sees Yuuri shift closer to where he knows the gun is. Setting the plate of blini on the table, Viktor moves to the door and looks out the peephole, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees Hana. He lets her in, gesturing at the table, and she moves to take a seat near Yuuri.

“Yuuri-kun, the guard still isn’t feeling well and the security team has decided it’s prudent to send someone out here. They’ll be looking through who’s available and getting them on a plane as quickly as possible.” She smiles and nods when Viktor asks if she wants tea, looking back at Yuuri while he frowns at his mug.

“Do we know who they’re sending?” Yuuri asks.

“No,” she replies, “they haven’t made their decision, but it will be someone with a good track record and no reason for suspicion. They won’t risk sending someone they’re not sure about.”

Nodding, Yuuri takes a sip of tea. “When will we know who’s coming?”

“When they get around to telling us, I suspect,” she replies. “His Royal Highness is looking into it, though they seem to be having technical issues. Again.”

Viktor can  _ see _ the blood drain from Yuuri’s face. “Neechan, you don't think…”

“An actual system outage,” she says. “Not just issues with this specific job. Your uncle was quick to verify.”

Yuuri nods, but it doesn't seem to ease his fear. His own security team, tasked with keeping him alive, and he can't trust them. 

The security team is tasked with keeping  _ them _ alive, and they have a track record of problems doing their job properly. To be fair, a background check isn’t quite as important as their physical safety, but it still doesn't bode well. Walking back to the table with Hana’s tea, Viktor sets it down. 

“Would you like a plate?” he asks.

Hana looks at Yuuri, and he shrugs a shoulder, sipping his tea again. “I'll take a small one,” she replies. “They look delicious, but Yulian and I were going to grab something at that café you recommended.”

Smiling, Viktor grabs a plate and an extra fork, setting them in front of her before taking his seat again. 

“Nee-chan, have my uncle look into whether it could have been intentional,” Yuuri says as he serves himself. 

“Of course, I'll call him when I head out. We’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours to go to the rink.”

“Sounds good, I want to be kept up-to-date on any developments, as well.” Yuuri dumps jam on his blini, spreading it haphazardly with his fork. 

“Absolutely.” Hana serves herself, topping hers with a small amount of butter. 

Favoring sour cream, Viktor serves up and starts eating. 

“I wanna buy your breakfast,” Yuuri says to Hana. 

“You don't need to,” she replies. 

“Nee-chan, come on.”

“You realize I'm not broke, right?” Hana asks. “I got paid for going with you, on top of living expenses and such. I haven't used that money.”

“Can I just be nice?”

Going to protest again, Hana sees the almost pleading look on Yuuri’s face and relents. “Fine,” she says, smiling fondly, “I’ll let you.”

Satisfied, Yuuri nods and continues eating. “Besides,” he says with a cheek full of food, “I still have money from my job saved.”

“I'm proud of you,” Hana responds, “but stop talking with your mouth full.”

Chewing quickly, Yuuri swallows and sticks his tongue out at her, before drinking more tea. She laughs, ruffling his hair. Setting his mug down, Yuuri disappears for a bit and Hana sighs. 

“Everything alright?” Viktor asks. 

“I get the impression he wants his alone time with you,” she laughs. “He's been looking forward to this for a while.”

“Has he?” Viktor feels a blush on his cheeks, looking down at his food for distraction means he doesn't expect it when Hana ruffles his hair fondly, too. Surprisingly, there’s little discomfort when he looks up, and they share a smile. 

“He’s enjoying himself. Excited to go to to the rink, too, he’s always loved skating.”

“I can tell,” Viktor replies. “You’ve seen him?”

“Of course I have,” she says, “I used to accompany him almost everywhere. Rink included.”

“Since he left?”

“Since he was about six. I was just a guard at that point, but by the time of the attempt I went on almost every excursion.”

“You were close?”

Yuuri speaks as he sets money in front of Hana. “Of course we were, inasmuch as we were allowed to be at that point. I always travelled with her and my mom.” Sitting at his place, he crosses his legs under him and looks at his adopted sister. “Get Yulian something too, if you want.”

“Why are you carrying cash?” Hana asks. 

“I got cash back, and it’s easier to tip and pay for stuff with cash.”

Viktor nods in agreement. Rolling her eyes, Hana puts the money in her pocket. “Yuuri-kun you know you’re not suppo—”

“Can I be normal for one fucking day?” Yuuri asks. “Please? I carried cash all the time in Detroit.”

“Alright, alright,” Hana says. “Just remember the Palace doesn’t want you—”

“That’s all I had left,” Yuuri interrupts. “There isn't any more in my wallet, don't worry.”

“Alright,” Hana mutters as she takes a bite of her blini. “You could have just said something.”

“You could have not scolded me,” Yuuri retorts.

“More tea, anyone?” Viktor asks cheerfully, much like his mothers would do when he and Alexei got to bickering. Both Yuuri and Hana look at him, then at each other, before letting out an almost simultaneous sigh. They’re so much like siblings it’s funny, sometimes, and Viktor holds back a grin in favor of a small smile.

“I’d like some,” Yuuri says after a moment.

“I’ll be finishing this cup and heading out, actually,” Hana answers, “but I appreciate it.”

By the time Viktor’s done getting Yuuri tea, Hana’s pulling her bag on. Hugging Yuuri from behind, she whispers something in his ear. He nods, whispers something in return, and she kisses the top of his head and squeezes him tightly. Everything’s good, again, and she smiles as she pulls away. Opening his free arm in invitation, Viktor smiles at Hana, giving her a one-armed hug when she embraces him.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Yuuri-kun. I’ll shoot you a text before we head over, remember to take only your gear bags, someone will be by to get the overnight bags.”

“I know,” he replies. “We’ll send you a copy of the route we’re taking.”

“Thanks,” Hana says, before leaving with a wave. As the door closes, Yuuri settles into place, thanking Viktor as the tea is set down. Viktor settles as well, and they eat a good chunk of the meal in silence. Yuuri’s finished just before Viktor is, and when he stands he holds out his hand for Viktor’s plate.

“Lyubov, you don’t need to,” he says, but Yuuri merely closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks at him. 

“Please, Vityusha?”

It’s the sort of mundane normalcy Yuuri’s been missing since they moved to Hasetsu, and Viktor nods, holding his plate out. Taking it, Yuuri goes to the sink, dumping them in. “Find me other dishes, would you?” he asks.

They’ve not been at the apartment for long, so Viktor has only a few spare mugs from last night lying around. They’d done the dinner dishes before bed, so by the time Viktor dumps his meager findings into the sink, Yuuri’s halfway done with what he had. Drying each dish, Viktor gets everything put away by the time Yuuri’s scrubbed the last of the errant batter off the stovetop, and he pulls Viktor into a kiss as he tosses the sponge in the sink.

“How long till we need to be at the rink?” he asks.

Viktor checks his phone. “Hana and Yulian will be here in a bit over an hour.”

“Shower, change, then cuddle on the couch?” Yuuri asks. Nodding, Viktor presses a kiss to his lips in response. 

 

~*~

 

As they walk to Yubileyny, Viktor tells stories about his life here. They stop by a café for a pair of Rafs, Yuuri finally tasting one without having had to make it himself.

“These are good,” he says as he walks. “Better than mine.”

“Not really,” Viktor says. “What you lack in authenticity you make up for in  _ love.” _

Yuuri blushes. “I do my best,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose as they reach Trinity Bridge. Looking out over the Neva, Yuuri smiles. “It’s beautiful here.”

Glancing around, Viktor does his best to see the city with new eyes. “It is,” he says. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Do you miss it?” Yuuri asks.

“Some,” Viktor says as he sips his coffee. “Not as much as you might think.”

“It’s weird what you do and don’t miss when you make a big change,” Yuuri says with understanding.

“True,” Viktor replies. “Lyubov, do you see the island over there? Zayachy ostrov?” He points at the Peter and Paul Fortress, surrounded on all sides by the waters of the Neva.

“I see it,” Yuuri says.

“I went to visit the fortress once instead of going to practice. Yakov wasn’t thrilled at all. I told him I was trying to get in touch with Russian history.”

“What’d he say?”

“He asked me to get in touch with it on my own time and made me run laps. I had to do those… things where you go into the arena and go up and down the stairs of the seating.”

“Stadiums?” Yuuri asks. “I hated those in P.E.”

“The  _ worst,” _ Viktor says. “I asked if I could just run a few extra miles and he refused.”

“Rude.” Yuuri almost goes straight where they need to turn left, but Viktor manages to grab him in time and lead him along the river. Once they pass the island, Viktor points.

“That’s Palace Bridge, I don’t know if you can see it from here.”

Squinting, Yuuri adjusts his glasses and looks as closely as he’s able. “I kind of can,” he says. “To the right of the Winter Palace?”

“Mhmm!” Viktor agrees. The Winter Palace, like the one in Hasetsu, is designed to be impressive and visible even from a distance, making it a convenient landmark as far as navigation goes. Turquoise, white, and gold, it shines brightly above the rich blue water, standing proud in the late morning sun. They keep walking, losing sight of the Palace after a bit, but then it’s only a few more blocks to the rink. Viktor waves at the people on their route that recognize him, and drags Yuuri into a convenience store for snacks to eat later. 

 

~*~

 

“Katsuki.” Yakov gives Yuuri a once-over as they walk up to him and Lilia. They’d made it with minutes to spare, and Yakov’s face says he’s not thrilled in the least.

“Mr. Feltsman,” Yuuri replies coolly, “Madame Lilia.”

Lilia bows, but Yakov stands tall. “Vitya will need to practice, today,” he says.

Yuuri nods. “I was actually wondering if you would put me through my paces, so to speak. I don’t have the impressive jump repertoire of your skaters, Mr. Feltsman, but I feel that doing my best to practice like Vitya does might give me a better understa—”

“So you want to join in on their practice?”

“Yakov!” Lilia admonishes, likely because Yakov interrupted, but he ignores her.

Yuuri nods again. “I’d like that, if you’re okay with it. And if you’d treat me like any other skater, if you do this.”

“Your Majesty,” Lilia says, “if you would like me to give some basic instructions so you can get a bit of a feel for things, I’d be more than happy to.”

With a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, Yuuri looks at her. “I appreciate it, Madame Lilia, but I said I wanted to be treated like any other skater and I meant it.”

“Your Majesty,” Lilia responds, “that tends to involve quite a bit of criticism, to encourage improvement of course, and—”

“I’m well aware, Madame. Viktor’s told me countless stories of his career and time training under yourself and your ex-husband, I’m confident I know what to expect from you both, my goal today is to see if I can do it.” Lilia glances uneasily at Viktor, but looks back when Yuuri continues. “As far as jumps go, I’m unable to do any quads, though I had all of my triples before leaving Detroit. It’s been a while, so I’ll likely require jumps scaled down further, but other than that I expect no less of myself than you both expect of your skaters, and would like your demeanor to reflect that while I’m on the ice.”

Lilia looks taken aback, but Yuuri’s tone has gone from hopeful to expectant. If they’re going to allow him to join practice, he’s made it clear he expects the same criticism as would be given to anyone else. Georgi, nearby, is watching the exchange with a guarded expression, though Viktor can see approval in his smile. 

“Viktor!” Mila waves from the boards. Turning with a smile, Viktor waves in return. “You brought Yuuri this time?”

Viktor nods, before one of their bodyguards steps in.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he says, “we do require that your friends use the proper forms of addre—”

“I can instruct people on the manner in which they’re required to speak to or about me,” Yuuri interrupts, “and would appreciate little interference in that matter here. I met Mr. Feltsman and Vitya’s rinkmates when I visited Russia. They know me by my given name and as this is a closed practice I won’t demand they use my title.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the guard says, bowing before walking back to his post.

Yuuri looks out over the rink, then over at Mila. “Hey,” he says. 

She leans against the boards. “So. Secret identity, huh?”

Flushing, Yuuri smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Yup! Thanks again for helping me sneak around.”

“My pleasure! How'd the nickname go?” She laughs, winking. 

Yuuri blushes again and Viktor just wants to pinch his cheeks, pull him close and lay kisses on his nose until he’s giggling in Viktor’s arms. Looking between them, Mila snorts before bursting into laughter. 

Now Viktor’s blushing, and he clears his throat. “Don't you have warm-ups to do?”

“I was just greeting our  _ guest,  _ Viktor!” She says, pushing back off the boards. “Later, Yuuri!”

Yuuri waves, and she returns it before skating away. 

Clearing his throat, Yuuri turns back to Lilia and Yakov. “So,” he says, “will I be able to join in your practice? You are, of course, free to refuse.”

Yakov looks him up and down once more and huffs. “On the ice in ten, Katsuki, we’ll see where you are. Vitya- you, too.”

Viktor nods, and Yuuri grins up at him. “This is gonna be fun,” Yuuri says. 

“Yeah,” Viktor says, glancing at Lilia. She’s looking decidedly conflicted, no doubt worried about Yakov barking orders at Yuuri. It's at Yuuri’s request, though, and he’s made it clear he isn't expecting them to be particularly nice. He looks back down at his fiancé and presses a kiss to his gelled black hair. “Yeah,” he says again, smiling. “It will.”

 

Surprisingly, it is. Yuuri takes a little to get used to the warm-ups and drills Yakov runs, and does bits of Viktor’s programs that he can remember. Yakov, as he is wont to, stands on his skates in the middle of the rink, shouting changes he wants made, reminders to watch leg and arm positioning. He puts Viktor through his paces, then asks him to demonstrate the program he has planned.

_ On Love: Eros. _ He’s showed Yuuri bits and pieces, gone through the routine once with him, but Yuuri hasn’t had much time to go to the rink. Especially not with the ball and running the country to be done, and Viktor’s been working on it extensively in the time since. He holds his phone out to Yuuri, who gestures in Georgi’s direction. Not something he’s able to do in front of people, then, especially not after strong-arming his bodyguards into letting him interact with everyone on a first-name basis. Georgi takes it without question, looking at the name of the piece and then raising an eyebrow in Viktor’s direction. He’s smiling, though, and Viktor knows he approves. 

Viktor shrugs, smirking. He gives Yuuri a kiss, and then a private smile. “Watch me,” he says in a low whisper against Yuuri’s ear. “Keep your eyes on me, Yuuri.”

Blushing, Yuuri nods. “Of course, Vitya,” he murmurs, “always.”

Kissing him again, Viktor pushes off the boards, skating a couple of laps. When he’d first heard the music, he’d loved the raw sensuality it allows, the tempo, the build… everything about it had screamed a fast-paced program, elaborate footwork, and a chance to play into the playboy image he had. He hadn’t been with Yuuri at that point. They’d been friends, for sure, and he’d very much imagined a future with the barista, but hadn’t dreamed yet of Yuuri reciprocating his feelings.

They’d been together when he’d finalized it as his choice, though, and since then, he’s been choreographing it with Yuuri in mind. His face, his body… he’d found a way to make everything come together in what he feels is one of his finest programs to date. The choreography won’t be refined as it will if…  _ when _ he competes, but there’s still plenty of time, and a calmness comes over him when he remembers he’ll have Yuuri’s support as he skates one more season. For the first time in a long while, he’s genuinely excited about competing. It’ll be difficult, to be sure, but he wants his last season to be his best yet. He wants to skate Eros, find something for his free and make a masterpiece, surprise Yuuri with a World Record (or two, or three) won by a program choreographed with him in mind.

He skates a smaller circle, grin plain on his face and easy to see, he knows, but there’s no reason to hide it. Not right now. Taking his starting position, he looks at Georgi and gives a nod. When Georgi presses play, Viktor looks directly at Yuuri, making eye contact, runs his hands down his body with a smirk, and begins to move. 

 

It’s adorable how flustered Yuuri is when Viktor skates to the edge of the rink. “That was amazing, Vitya,” he says, quiet, and Viktor’s heart sings when he kisses Yuuri. Yakov looks somewhat less impressed, but Viktor can’t find it in him to really care at the moment. He kisses Yuuri again. 

“It needs to be refined before competition,” he murmurs into his ear, “but how do you like it so far?”

“You’re going to continue skating?” Something in Yuuri’s eyes lights up at the revelation and he smiles, so brightly.

“I want to,” Viktor says. “I want to skate another season with you at my side, I think.”

Yuuri kisses him, a soft peck on the lips that makes Viktor’s heart soar. “I'll support you, you know that.”

“I do,” Viktor says, pressing another kiss to Yuuri's nose. 

“Vitya!” Yakov has finally had enough of Viktor messing around, waving him over to where he’s standing towards the center of the rink. Kissing Yuuri again, Viktor skates over for the inevitable breakdown of everything wrong with the program. 

 

Yakov takes a surprisingly short time to give Viktor the laundry list of improvements he has in mind, costume ideas he knows Viktor is going to ignore, and when he finishes, Viktor wanders off to find his fiancé again. He’s with Yuri, chatting about one thing or another, and Viktor drapes himself over Yuuri. 

“Yura,” he says, “how’s  _ Agape _ coming?”

Yuri shrugs. Not well, maybe? He’d stumbled a bit during his step sequences, it’s probably getting to him. “I can run it with you,” Viktor offers. 

“I don't need  _ help,” _ Yuri bites. 

“I redid some of the footwork last week,” Viktor lies cheerfully. “I was going to send you a video, but figured I might as well show you here! Much easier in person!” Yuri’s much more likely to accept help if it looks more like an afterthought and isn’t the only reason he’s taking instruction from Viktor.

“Why didn't you say that before?”

“I just remembered!” Viktor responds. “Anyway, I thought I ought to give you the best program I can. You have me to beat, after all!”

Wide-eyed, Yuri steps back in surprise. “You're coming back?”

Viktor winks, holding a finger over his lips. “I'll tell Yakov soon. You'll be here next week?”

Sheepish, Yuri shakes his head. “Moscow. I'm visiting Grandpa.”

“Hmm. When do you leave?” Viktor asks. 

“Day after tomorrow,” he responds. “Morning flight.”

Pursing his lips, Viktor rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri looks around, and with a gesture calls Yulian over to the boards. 

“Your Majesty?” Yulian says with a bow. 

“I was wondering if there was a block of time tomorrow where Vitya could come by the rink? I know we have the hospital in the morning, but isn't there something small before the boat tour that evening?”

“A walking tour of Palace Bridge, Sire.”

Yuuri looks at Viktor. “Is it safe to assume you’ve seen the bridge?”

“I've lived in St.Petersburg full-time for years, I've seen all of them. More than once.”

“Would we be able to spare the manpower for Viktor to visit the rink during that time?” he asks Yulian. 

“Your Majesty, we are prepared for unexpected separation. I can arrange it with the team if Mr. Nikiforov would like to come here instead.”

Yuuri looks at Viktor with an eyebrow raised. 

“I can do that if Yura can make it,” he replies, looking at his cousin. 

Yuri wouldn't hesitate to turn Viktor down if he really wanted, so it’s a pleasant surprise when he shrugs. “I guess I can come by after lunch,” he says, “but I can't stay long, so don't waste my time!” Flipping Viktor off, he skates away backwards. 

Viktor sighs happily. “I missed him,” he says. 

Yuuri chuckles. “Of course,” he says. “Do we want to show Madame Lilia what we’ve done to your program?” 

Smiling, Viktor hugs his fiancé. “Not today, I've already worked harder than I have in weeks. We’ll be back again before we leave so the media can get their footage, we can do it then.”

“You should go cool down,” Yuuri says, “or you’ll end up in more pain.”

“You, too,” Viktor replies. 

 

Viktor is skating idly in circles after cooling down, while Yuuri gets pointers from Yakov. He  _ had _ been over with them, but Yakov had sent him away before getting started, citing Viktor’s inability to just shut his mouth and listen. With a nod, Yuuri’d confirmed he’d be okay, and Viktor had been banished to a life of loneliness, devoid of his love… 

Okay, maybe not devoid, but he doesn’t fail to make his displeasure known regardless. Before long, he’s joined by Yuri, doing his best to be nonchalant about skating over.

“I noticed you’re not—” Yuri looks pointedly at Viktor’s chest. “Is everything… Is something going on?” he asks. He’s noticed they aren't wearing the necklaces. 

“No!” Viktor lies, “I just didn't want to lose anything. Everything’s fine, there's nothing to worry about.”

Yuri gives him a skeptical look but, seemingly, believes him and it’s hard to hide the guilt creeping up his neck. While Viktor’s no stranger to telling half-truths, covering things up with a wink and a smile, he doesn’t like doing it to Yuri. He doesn’t have a choice. Yuri can’t get involved, he already knows too much, the stakes are far too high and Viktor feels a pang of sympathy for Yuuri having to hide everything for so long. Viktor smiles at his little cousin.

“Everything’s alright, Yura, there’s no reason to worry.”

His cousin raises an eyebrow. Otherwise, he doesn’t push it. Viktor almost lets out a sigh of relief, but remembers not to let his face fall.

_ Smile, like everything’s fine, _ he tells himself as he waits for his fiancé.

 

~*~

 

“I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow,” Yuuri moans as he leans back in the seat. “You did this every day?”

“Every time I practice,” Viktor replies, resting his head on the seat for the drive to the hotel. 

“So when you come home super sore…”

“It was likely far more strenuous than this,” Viktor finishes. 

“Holy shit,” Yuuri says. “I used to practice some with Phichit, but Ciao Ciao didn't work me this hard. I just… ran jumps and copied Phichit’s and your programs. Did some exercises, but I never did training like  _ that.  _ Just spent a lot of time on the ice.”

Viktor kisses his forehead. “You weren’t competitive,” he says, “so it wouldn’t make sense for Celestino to work you like this. If he’d pushed too hard when you weren't used to it, it could have done more harm than good.”

“True,” Yuuri says absently. “You didn’t tell me you’d reworked  _ Agape.” _

Sighing, Viktor sinks into his seat. “I haven’t, really, just messed around in practice a bit, but I have an idea or two I can turn into something good. He’s struggling with his step sequences and a couple of transitions, and the change in choreography might help with that.”

“Are you going to choreograph routines after you retire?” Yuuri asks. “Your choreography’s amazing.”

“Will I be allowed to?”

Opening his mouth to answer has Yuuri shortly closing it again without comment. He frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “I… can’t see any reason you wouldn’t be able to, there’s nothing illegal about the Royal Family having jobs, especially members that aren’t actively running the country, but… I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do if that’s what you want, though. They might just have issues with you taking money for it? I’m not sure.”

“Well, we can look into it. We have time.”

“What will you do if they forbid it?”

“I’ll find a work-around,” Viktor says. “I’m good at that, just ask the RSF. I think I’m the bane of their existence at this point, but I keep winning them medals so they can’t complain.” He’s reminded of Yuuri just after they’d gotten to Hasetsu, wearing what he wanted because people couldn’t say anything to contradict him. Maybe Viktor’s more suited to the position of King-Consort than he’d previously believed.

Yuuri snorts, smiling as he settles into Viktor’s side comfortably. “The city is beautiful,” he murmurs as he stares out the window. “The gulls remind me of Hasetsu. And Detroit.”

“Me, too,” Viktor responds. “I never thought I’d leave St. Petersburg, you know. Detroit was only supposed to be a few months.”

“What happened?”

“Didn't feel like leaving. So, I stayed there, and then you were there, and we were making the beginnings of a life together.” 

“And then you moved to Hasetsu. Suddenly.” 

Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s hair, Viktor pulls him closer. “You know I decided to stay in Detroit the day we met?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Viktor replies. “I made arrangements with my landlord and Yakov on my way to the café.”

“Wow,” Yuuri whispers. “That’s… really something.”

“I found it interesting as well.” Viktor’s not one to really believe in fate, but if anything, this is it. That he’d make such a sudden, major decision only to meet the love of his life minutes later is almost unbelievable, but it’s what had happened. There’s no question Viktor’s life is better for it, seeing Yuuri’s smile only reinforces that each and every time.

 

Chef Elena has dinner on when they arrive at the suite. They have enough time to change, and they take advantage of that to get out of their casual clothing, still damp from their post-practice shower. Tonight’s pajamas are soft cotton pants and t-shirts, all tailored to their measurements. Excessive though the Palace can be, the clothing is remarkably comfortable. 

Dinner is taken at the table on the Terrace. Chef Elena and her assistant are punctual when it comes to making sure their food is hot when it comes out, that they don't want for anything during the meal. Music drifts on the wind from somewhere nearby, a soft, gentle piano melody that sounds like comfort. Yuuri pours them each another glass of wine. 

“Wardrobe wants to triple-check the fit of our tuxedos before we go to the ballet at the Mariinsky,” he says. 

“We’ve had several fittings already, why another?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I don't know. I just do what they tell me to. Have you been?”

“To the Mariinsky Theater?” Viktor asks. Yuuri nods. “Plenty,” he says. “We’ll be in a box, right?”

“The Tsar’s Box,” Yuuri says. “What with me being… me. I'm wearing the  _ fancy _ circlet.”

“Those are the worst seats in the theater,” Viktor protests. “So far from the stage!”

“Yeah, but it’s  _ impressive,” _ Yuuri responds. “It'll be the same at the Mikhailovsky for the opera. It's that… see-and-be-seen thing. Minako says to prepare to have pictures taken, she’ll be flying out to join us for both, and she’ll be at Lilia’s party, too.”

“I should take you to the theatre incognito sometime.” Muttering, Viktor sips his wine. 

Yuuri laughs. “I’d like that. I wish we could.” 

The Chef’s assistant comes out, taking their plates. “Dessert will be ready soon, Your Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, offering them warm, moist towels. Yuuri takes one, wipes his face and hands and dumps it back on the platter. After doing the same, Viktor sets his towel on Yuuri’s and leans back in the chair until dessert comes. 

Chef Elena herself brings it out, syrniki plated wonderfully with jam and honey in small bowls to the side. Viktor had made it a point to ask for traditional Russian foods and so far she’s gone above and beyond to deliver. Tonight is no different, and the first bite tastes like heaven. Yuuri doesn't eat much, citing the amount of dairy in the dish, but enjoys what he does, sharing the occasional bite with Viktor. 

“I want to take you the  _ synagoga, _ ” Viktor says. “I used to go sometimes, on the High Holy Days and such.”

“What synagogue?” Yuuri asks. 

_ “Bolshaya Khoral’naya Synagoga,” _ he replies. “I forgot the English? The building is amazing though, I think you’d enjoy it. We can say hi to the rabbi while we’re there!”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “Maybe I can convince my bodyguards to let me go to your place again. I don't think I could get staying overnight, but maybe a day. Help you pack. You’re sure you want to move to Hasetsu?”

“Yes, Yuuri,” Viktor says. “I'll still have the apartment for when I come out, but it makes more sense for me to stay with you.”

Yuuri grunts, sips the water he still has from dinner. 

“I  _ like _ Hasetsu,” Viktor adds. “I genuinely don’t mind.”

“If you say so,” Yuuri replies. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped with me.”

“I don’t.” Looking at his fiancé, Viktor rubs a thumb along his cheek. “I never have, you’ve given me more than enough opportunity to leave. Hasetsu’s a beautiful city, and it’s where you are. I can leave any time, I know this, and I know you won’t let it reflect badly on me.”

Nodding, Yuuri sighs and leans back in his chair. “I’d love to visit Yekaterinburg with you at some point, if you want. See your moms and siblings again.”

“I’ll show you all of Russia, if that’s what you’d like,” Viktor says, scooting his chair closer to Yuuri’s. Nodding, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand, rubs the back of it with his thumb. 

“I’d love to see it,” he murmurs before he yawns. “‘D love to see the bed right about now, too. Early day tomorrow.”

Chuckling, Viktor stands, pulls his fiancé up. “Let’s go, then,” he says, pecking Yuuri on the nose. Though he grumbles, Yuuri holds Viktor’s hand as they walk and snuggles close once they’re under the covers.

 

~*~

 

“The kids at the hospital were excited to see you,” Yuuri says as they’re sitting down to lunch in a private room of the hotel restaurant the next day.

Viktor nods. “They were. I’ve visited before,” he says, “and a lot of the time they’re pretty enthusiastic.”

“You’re good with kids,” Yuuri says. “You really are.”

“They’re fun, and a lot of them are about my sister’s age, so I'm not entirely clueless.” The visit had been nice, the hospital staff more than falling over themselves to make sure Yuuri enjoyed his tour, and the media had more or less kept a distance that could be called respectable. On the way out, Viktor had subtly slipped a check to the hospital director. In the past, he’d always made a sizeable donation when he’d visited. Often, they’d wanted to document it but this time the Palace had asked for discretion. They can't tell Viktor what to do with his own money, they said, but the Royal Family handing out money just isn't  _ done,  _ especially not in a foreign country.

Russia is, of course, Viktor’s home country but as he’s on a trip with their King, he’s obligated to follow their rules. Luckily, he’s friendly enough with the director to know the request for privacy regarding his donation will be honored.

When finished, they head upstairs to change. Viktor will be donning a tracksuit for practice, Yuuri will be putting on a different suit because that's apparently what Royalty does between appearances. Even Yuuri feels like it's a bit excessive, but there's little he can do right now without causing problems. 

 

~*~

 

“You're sure you don't want to skate?” Viktor asks Yulian as they leave the elevator. 

“I'm sure, Mr. Nikiforov,” he answers. “Feels a bit intimidating.”

“Do I intimidate you?”

Yulian shrugs. “Not really, especially not after I got to know you, but being on the ice with you, Mr. Popovich, Mr. Plisetsky  _ and _ Ms. Babicheva would be a bit much. All of you are Russia's top skaters, and I haven't touched an ice skate since I was seven.”

Viktor laughs. “I promise, Gosha and Mila wouldn't judge. No guarantees about Yu—”

“Mr. Nikiforov!” A familiar voice says. 

Glancing around, Viktor sees Atsuko making her way across the lobby with another member of the guard, both pulling suitcases. 

“Kataoka-san,” Yulian says, “His Majesty is upstairs, still.”

“Excellent,” Atsuko replies. 

“I was under the impression only one guard had been sent,” Yulian remarks. 

“Were you? I figured they'd have let you know I was asked to come as well.”

“There have been technical issues,” the second guard says, “I was told last-minute and they’d tried sending me an email that got lost. Kataoka-san wasn't informed until we were about to leave.”

“Ah,” Yulian replies. “Well, Mr. Nikiforov and I have to get to Yulbileyny, we’ll see you both later.”

“I thought you were going to tour the bridges with His Royal Majesty,” Atsuko says, eyes narrowing. “There was supposed to be a tour?”

“Last-minute change of plans,” Viktor replies, “I need to work with Yura a bit today, before the boat ride this evening.”

“I see.” Giving a short bow, Atsuko smiles. “Should one of us accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Yulian says, “I’m sure you both need to be briefed for His Majesty’s excursion, and as the bridges are so open we want to focus on ensuring His Majesty’s safety. I’ve coordinated security for Mr. Nikiforov with the rink, they’ll have extra officers on hand.”

Smiling, Atsuko nods. “We’ll let you go, then,” she says, quite cheerfully, “can’t keep Russia’s National Hero off the ice!” She chuckles before walking away. Viktor and Yulian set off for the sports complex on foot, making good time as they walk through the streets of St. Petersburg.

 

~*~

 

The rink is cold as Viktor walks out to the boards, the steady roar of the industrial air conditioners familiar in a way the rinks in Detroit or Hasetsu had never managed to become. His skate guards clack against the floor until he takes them off, and Yakov motions him over almost the instant the metal of his blade hits the ice. 

“What did you tell Yuri in Hasetsu?”

“What do you mean, what did I tell him?”

“He’s been working hard.”

“He's a hardworking kid,” Viktor replies. “He needs a challenge, and he needs a goal.”

“He needs to work on his posture,” Lilia says as she approaches the boards. “It’s awful, he can’t expect to  _ skate _ beautifully if he can’t even  _ stand _ beautifully.”

“And of course, everything for the sake of  _ beauty. _ You should be proud of his accomplishments.”

Aghast, she looks at him. “I’m proud of all of my students, Vitya.” 

He looks her up and down, raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You could stand to act like it then.” It's out of Viktor's mouth before he can stop it, but he doesn’t regret saying anything. The shock on Lilia’s face is priceless, but he’s too angry to care. Harsher words are restrained behind clenched teeth, and he skates away. 

Yuri’s doing compulsory figures in his own little area, a bit more wobbly than he ought to be, but he straightens it out on his own. Raising one eyebrow as Viktor skates over, he slowly comes to a stop. 

“The fuck do you want?” he asks. 

“Just saying ‘hi’ before we get to practicing,” Viktor responds. “How are you doing?”

Yuri shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Why?”

“I'm allowed to care about my rinkmates! Gosha!” he calls out, seeing Georgi across the ice. Smiling, Georgi looks over and waves. Viktor returns the wave, and looks back at his little cousin. “Go mark off half the rink,” he says, “Yakov knows already. I’ll see you there in five.”

With a nod, Yuri goes to find the cones.

 

“Vitya,” Lilia says as he’s putting his skate guards on during a break. 

“What?” Turning around, he levels her with a glare. 

“Why are you so angry?”

He raises an eyebrow. The question itself is a testament to the lack of attention she pays her students, the idea that she could  _ possibly _ have done something wrong apparently too outlandish for her to consider. 

“Are you just harsh with us because we’re your students or are you nice to Yuuri because he’s Royalty?” Viktor bites. 

“I'm sorry?”

“You heard me,” he says. 

“I have only been so strict to mold you into the artist I knew you could become.”

“And not much else.” Crossing his arms, Viktor levels her with a gaze. “All I’m saying,  _ Madame, _ is that if your student of almost a decade, who lived with you for a few years you might recall, is still wondering if you actually  _ care _ about them, you might be doing something wrong.”

“I only ever did my best.”

“You  _ only ever _ criticized me,” Viktor replies, and at this point it’s hard to keep the hurt out of his voice. “You- it was always about my _ image, _ never about  _ me.” _

“Vitya,” she says, “I’ve always been proud of you, I’ve always  _ cared.” _

“About my looks. How I moved. About me looking  _ beautiful _ on the ice. Do you even remember what you said when I got my hair cut?” Though there have been innumerable things over the years that have grated on him, built up into an undercurrent of aching resentment, there are some larger that still hurt. His hair is one of them.

“That was  _ years _ ago, Vitya. I don’t remember what I said, but I couldn’t see why you’d do such a silly thing,” Lilia replies. “We’d designed your costumes with your hair in mind, we’d made every effort to highlight it. It was your pride and joy.”

“You said it was disgusting. Didn’t even bother to ask why I’d done it.”

“And why  _ did _ you do it, then?”

“I was tired of peoples’ hands on it when I didn’t want them there. Sponsors grabbing it, running their fingers through while we took pictures, fans holding onto it to keep my attention.  _ You, _ yanking it into whatever hairstyle or treatment you deemed best that day without even bothering to check with me.” She raises an eyebrow, glances over at Yuri and Viktor feels renewed anger. “This obsession with beauty you have is going to ruin someone. Yura’s  _ fifteen.” _

“I  _ must _ be strict, Vitya, you know this. I have students who  _ depend _ on me to help them improve.”

“Students,” Viktor says. “Not playthings. Not dolls. It’s possible to teach, even be as demanding as you are, and still show you  _ care. _ You know, like taking your students’ mental and physical health into account.”

“You were  _ fine,” _ she says with a conviction that says she doesn’t know. She has no idea.

Viktor snorts. “Of course.”

“Vitya!” Yakov bellows from his office door. “Come here!”

Rolling his eyes, Viktor gives Lilia a disdainful look before he shrugs and turns around. Sauntering towards the office, he’s surprised when Yakov pokes his head out again.

_ “Now, _ Viktor!!” Something in his voice tells Viktor he should be worried, and he jogs the rest of the way only to walk in to a news report on the television. Shots fired, the announcer says, from a high-caliber rifle, possibly a sniper, at the King of Sachima on the Palace Bridge, who, according to eyewitness accounts, fell over the railing. 

Everything in Viktor coalesces into a heavy pit in his gut, ringing in his ears drowning out all but the announcer’s voice. The King has vanished, there’s no sign of a body in the Neva. Half his guards had ended up in the water in the commotion, there are communication problems all around with water damage to the equipment… Footage from the scene shows pure chaos, civilians running to and fro, police scanning the area and, apparently, searching nearby buildings. There are emergency vehicles, transport vehicles, the limousine Viktor recognizes as the one they’ve been using… Yulian bursts into the room.

“Did Takeda have something to do with this?” Viktor asks before he even opens his mouth.

“I don’t know, Sir, but I’ve been instructed to get you to safety. There’s no way of knowing if this was part of the threats or an independent incident. Please gather your things quickly and we’ll head out.”

Looking at Yakov, Viktor swallows his fear. “Will you tell Yura I had to go? Have him text me, I’ll set up a video call to work on anything he needs to work on.”

With a nod, Yakov gestures for him to go. As he’s leaving the room, Yakov speaks. “Be careful, Vitya,” he says. He’s not oblivious. His expression says he knows something is going on even beyond the chaos on the television, and Viktor resolves to explain when he can.

“I’ll be fine,” Viktor says, because the thought of anything else is too much right now. “Don’t worry.” He doesn’t try for a smile before he’s running back down the hall. In the locker room, he throws his soft guards on his skates, resolving to give them a good wipe-down later, and tosses them in his backpack before pulling on his tennis shoes. Looking at Yulian, he adjusts his backpack straps. “Let’s go.”

 

“You  _ lied!” _ Yuri shouts as Viktor’s just reaching the bottom of the steps. Viktor turns around to see him, enraged, gesticulating angrily at the top. “You fucking  _ lied,  _ Asshole! You said shit was fine!”

“Yura, I don't know what you're—”

“I'm not a fucking child! I heard you guys talking about some sort of threats, I heard about the fucking bridge!” He waves his phone in the air, a news article presumably on-screen. 

Glancing at Yulian, Viktor runs back up the stairs, taking his cousin by the shoulders. “Yura, listen, I will explain—”

“When? You're just leaving again, you'll probably be fucking off to Hasetsu after this because your fucking  _ boyfri—” _

_ “Listen to me,” _ Viktor emphasizes, “I can't explain right now, I don't have time and- and I literally  _ can't. _ Trust me, I will when I can Yura, I  _ promise.” _

“How do I know you're not just lying again, huh?!” He’s angry, but there’s fear in his voice that tears at Viktor’s heart and he wants to pull his cousin close, comfort him, but there’s no  _ time. _

_ “I keep my promises,” _ Viktor says, “you  _ know _ this.” Glancing around furtively, he looks Yuri in the eyes. “Please, Yura, I have to- Yuuri could be hurt.”  _ Or worse, _ the voice in the back of his mind whispers, and he swallows what he can of his terror.

“Just fucking go,” Yuri bites. “You better fucking tell me everything!”

“I will,” Viktor says, relieved as he sprints back down the stairs. Yulian keeps pace as Viktor takes off through the streets of St. Petersburg.

“Nearest rendezvous point is your apartment, Sir,” Yulian says as they’re leaving the complex. Viktor nods, turning in that direction. They reach Trinity Bridge soon enough, sprinting across it as busses and cars zoom past, and Viktor pushes up the pace despite the screaming in his legs. Yuuri’s somewhere, lost. Hurt, maybe. Dead. Viktor chokes his tears down as he turns another street, pushes his aching body to its limits. If he hadn’t gone to practice today running would be easier, even though yesterday’s practice left him aching.

If he hadn’t gone to practice today, he might already be dead, and Yuuri with him.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Yulian says, only slightly out of breath, “we’re still trying to figure out who all’s accounted for. No word on His Majesty, yet, though there’s been no sign of a body, which— reassuring. How far to your apartment?”

“Not very,” Viktor gasps as they round a corner. He can see his building up ahead and he breaks into a sprint. Yulian follows closely, hand constantly over the gun in the holster under his arm. 

“Viktor!” The doorman says when he enters. “I thought you were home. I let the nice boy up the stairs with a friend of his, are you having a party?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. His doorman, ancient as he is, has never really kept up with pop culture and barely knows Viktor figure skates, much less how famous he is and who exactly it is he’s engaged to. He nods, waving in thanks, and runs for the elevator. Yulian enters first, their rush being no excuse for proper procedures, especially when Yuuri’s here instead of… the alternative. Sighing in relief, Viktor enters the elevator when he’s given the all-clear, jamming his thumb into the button repeatedly to make the doors close.

“I don’t like that he just let someone up,” Yulian says as the elevator moves, drawing his gun but keeping it under his jacket. 

“He just wants me to have a social life,” Viktor replies, “and he met Yuuri when he visited, so it's not like he let a total stranger in. Yuuri and whoever he’s with should be in my apartment by now.”

“We’re still not entirely sure it’s His Majesty, but assuming it’s him…” Yulian sighs as he looks over his gun. “You know the drill, I’ll go in, do the check, you—”

“Wait until you give the all-clear, yes,” Viktor says. “Hallway or living room?”

“Living room is fine, I’ll check the bedrooms before anyone goes in, though. I don’t know which guard is with His Majesty, several of us are unaccounted for after the attack on the bridge.” The doors open, and Yulian follows just a step behind Viktor as Viktor runs. Yuuri’s here, Yuuri’s safe as far as they know, Yuuri’s… There’s no telling what sort of state he’s in, though, and with half of the communication units being knocked out by water exposure, Viktor won’t know until he gets there.

Yulian takes the key from him to open the door (“In case someone tries to shoot through it,” he explains, and somehow Viktor’s nerves manage to get worse,) before looking around the living room quickly. 

“Yulian?”

When he hears Yuuri’s voice, Viktor pushes through the doorway, past his bodyguard and near ecstatic to see his fiancé standing tall near the couch, though he seems to be favoring one of his legs. Viktor rushes over, turning Yuuri as he pulls him close. “I thought you were… we didn’t know where you were, Yuuri, we didn’t even know if you were hurt or kidnapped or dead or…” 

Yuuri frowns, pulling back. “What do you mean you didn’t know where I was? Kataoka-san said she’d alerted the rest of the guard.” 

Yulian’s eyes narrow. “We received no word, Your Majesty, as far as I know, and I’ve been talking to Hana-san this entire time, she didn’t say—”

“Not Hana-san,” Yuuri interrupts, “Atsuko-san, she’s checking the bedroom right now.” When Yuuri turns to gesture in the direction Atsuko had gone, Viktor sees red on his white dress shirt, blooming across his shoulder and upper chest. He hadn't seen it when he’d walked in and he almost has to stop himself from reaching out. Yuuri’s  _ hurt, _ somehow. Moving closer to his fiancé, Viktor gingerly touches his chest, moves the lapel of his sopping-wet jacket out of the way. It’s a nasty scrape starting near Yuuri’s collarbone, going clear through the fabric of his shirt and about the length of Viktor’s hand. Not deadly, not too deep, but certainly painful and it’ll likely leave a scar. Yuuri frowns.

“Let me get you a blanket, you’re sopping wet,” Viktor says, going around the back of his couch to a small chest.

“Mr. Nikiforov, with, uh, the new security concerns I wouldn’t advise—”

Glancing at the hallway behind Viktor, Yulian’s eyes widen and his hand moves to go for his gun just before Viktor feels heavy impact from behind, knocking him painfully into the back of his couch as shouting erupts. Stumbling sideways he lands awkwardly— painfully— onto his arm. Falling onto his back hurts and there’s a stabbing pain in his chest, dull throbbing in his hip from… something, he doesn’t know what, but when he fumbles around in an attempt to sit back up the hand that isn't in agony hits broken glass. There’s the sound of a zipper, the sound of a gunshot, another shout and Viktor does his best to breathe around the hurt and confusion. Rolling on his side only makes things worse, makes breathing impossible rather than just excruciatingly painful and a cry is ripped from his throat. There’s another thud, this time of someone hitting the floor, and Yuuri comes limping into view, collapsing to his knees next to Viktor.

“Vityusha,” he says, “Vitya, are you… where else are you hurt?” Viktor groans. Yuuri takes off his jacket, presses it to Viktor’s leg and grimaces when Viktor chokes back tears. It hurts. Everything hurts, his chest hurts, he’s fairly certain he’s got a broken rib, probably a sprained wrist, something is wrong with his hip and it  _ hurts. _ “I’m so sorry,” Yuuri is saying through tears when Viktor can finally understand him again. “Vityusha I’m so sorry I only wanted— I never meant for this Vitya, I’m… I’m so-  I can’t believe, I just—”

“Stop,” Viktor bites. Yuuri didn’t do this to him. It’s no fault of his and Viktor’s tired of Yuuri taking the blame for the consequences of  _ Viktor’s _ choice and he reaches blindly for Yuuri’s hand, squeezing it when he finds it. “No more.”

Seemingly understanding, Yuuri nods, kisses Viktor’s cheek with wet, trembling lips. The door opens again, Yuuri grabbing a gun from the floor and pointing it directly at the entrance with wide eyes, but his shoulders relax shortly. There’s some more shouting, rustling, running around, a cacophony of sound Viktor has no energy to process. Ambulance workers arrive in bright blue uniforms, ask him questions to see if he’s still thinking properly. He doesn’t remember most of them beyond the time it takes to answer, but about halfway through Yulian snorts when he answers “Are you in pain?” with “What the fuck do you think?” and the last thing he registers is being lifted onto a gurney.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes in a haze of distant agony and dim hospital lighting. Trying to sit up more leaves him biting back a hiss, struggling to breathe for a moment before the curtains around his bed slide open. 

“Vityusha,” he hears in Yuuri’s soft voice. Looking over, Viktor attempts a pained smile as Yuuri sits gingerly on his bed. Head swimming, whatever medications he's on aren't making thinking easy and the room spins uncomfortably when he looks around, so he keeps his eyes on his fiancé. 

“You’re okay,” he rasps, smiling. 

Yuuri nods. “I am. I’m okay, Yulian’s okay, you’re okay. Kataoka-san is in custody, as well as… as well as a few others. My uncle is already starting to make his moves in Hasetsu, so there’s no need for secrecy.”

Such a relief, and Viktor’s hand (in a cast, he notices after a moment,) drifts to his chest to touch the necklace before he remembers they don’t have theirs. Regardless, he brings his fingers to rest on his sternum, only to come in contact with the warm metal of the snowflake, the gemstone set in its center. Eyes wide, he looks at Yuuri.

“I thought you’d like to have that on,” Yuuri says, gesturing at the one laying open on his own chest. “Minako brought it when sh—”

“Yuuri, we’re supposed to—”

“It’s okay, Vityusha. It got leaked, and my uncle decided confirming the rumors rather than lying and having it come out later was the best course of action.” Taking a deep breath, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand. “The world knows about the engagement,” he says hesitantly. “We don’t have to hide anymore.”

He sounds so relieved, but then… he looks utterly terrified and Viktor knows there’s something very,  _ very _ wrong.

“Who else did they arrest, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, quiet but surprisingly coherent. The only hesitation, the only sign of Yuuri covering anything up was when he had mentioned the arrests and as Yuuri blanches, mouth opening and closing, Viktor gets an unpleasantly sick feeling in his gut. He knows, somehow, what Yuuri’s going to say and after a moment, Yuuri speaks; a disbelieving monotone that somehow reverberates through the room.

“Hana-neechan. They’ve arrested Hana-nee.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There's a fire that burns inside_  
>  _It's **an instinct that never lies**_  
>  _The target's tattooed between our eyes_  
>  \- Zedd, Ignite
> 
>  
> 
> Well, then! I've been looking forward to posting this chapter too, excited to get to this turning point in the story and we're going into the home stretch. I will be adjusting the chapter count once I've finished plotting the last arc of the story, but even then there's no guarantee that chapter count will be correct.
> 
> Yuri was only supposed to be in one chapter, the banquet was supposed to be in the same chapter as their trip to Russia. I do my best but the story has expanded more than I've expected. I'm not anticipating more than, say, five or six more chapters, epilogue included.
> 
> (and there will be an epilogue)
> 
> Chapter Fifteen will be up in a month, and I'll likely post a preview a week or two beforehand on my tumblr.
> 
> Huge thank-you to Isis and Riki for their unwavering support!!
> 
>  
> 
> Yuuri's plane is loosely based on [Sultan Brunei's private jet.](http://designlimitededition.com/sultan-bruneis-private-jet-flying-palace/)  
>  
> 
> **Locations in Russia:**  
> [Trinity Bridge](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trinity_Bridge,_Saint_Petersburg) a.k.a. the one Yuuri was running across in the end credits of Episode 12.  
> [Hermitage](http://hermitage--www.hermitagemuseum.org/)  
> [Palace Square](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palace_Square) a.k.a. where that one picture of young Viktor running with Makkachin was taken.  
> [Winter Palace](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_Palace)  
> [Jordan Staircase](http://hermitagemuseum.org/3d/html/pwoaen/main/index.html#node2)  
> [Pavilion Hall](http://hermitagemuseum.org/3d/html/pwoaen/main/index.html#node15)  
> [Zayachy Ostrov](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hare_Island_\(Saint_Petersburg\))  
> [Peter and Paul Fortress](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_and_Paul_Fortress)  
> [Palace Bridge](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palace_Bridge)  
> [Grand Choral Synagogue](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Choral_Synagogue)
> 
> **Foods:**   
> [Trubochki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cream_horn)  
> [Blini](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blini)  
> [Syrniki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syrniki)


	15. At This Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Come On Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jC1vtG3oyqg)
> 
> **Warning: <\b> discussions of violence.**

The humming is loud. When Viktor opens his eyes, there’s a rushing of air, vibration in the cushions he’s on. The body next to him is warm, so very warm and he’s leaning back on something soft and it’s wonderful. He snuggles closer, jolting closer to consciousness as the body moves, chuckling, before an arm is wrapped around him. Looking up, he beams.

“Yuuri,” he says, and Yuuri smiles at him and it’s bright even with the dark circles under his eyes.

“Vitya,” is the response, quiet and breathy and full of love. Viktor could listen to his name on Yuuri’s lips endlessly, would relish the minute changes in intonation in Yuuri’s voice every time and be satisfied for the rest of his life.

His head aches, but it’s a dull throb in the back of his mind compared to the stabbing feeling in his ribs, the aching of his hand and arm. He wants to move. It feels like forever since he’s been up and around, and the sky outside of the small window is so beautifully blue.

“I want to take a walk,” he says, because he does. “I want to see the gardens.” The sun shines brightly, the clouds are so nice below them and he loves flowers so much. The gardens are beautiful, the flowerbeds blooming, he’s sure. It’s been a little while since he’s seen them though, and now seems perfect.

“Vitya, we’re in a plane,” Yuuri chuckles.

“The plane gardens, then,” Viktor pouts. “I’ve never walked in plane gardens before.” The clouds are so, _so_ incredibly fluffy right now, but they’re not as fluffy as Viktor knows they could be. There’s a perfect amount of fluff somewhere in this world, and these clouds, as wonderful as they are, aren’t it.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, pulling him close and stroking his hair. His fingers are gentle, the kiss he presses to the top of Viktor’s head moreso, and he sighs, soft and kind. “Vitya, there aren’t plane gardens to walk around. Hasetsu has hot-air balloons. We can sign you up to go skydiving at some point if you like.”

“Yuuri, _plane gardens.”_ _It's important,_ Viktor thinks.

As rude as Yuuri’s being, telling him he can’t go see the clouds, his laugh is anything but frustrating. It’s beautiful, soothing a metaphorical ache deep in his chest Viktor didn’t know he had (though it does nothing for the real one, dulled by medication though it is). Yuuri’s laugh is light and airy, just like the clouds.

_They’re so fluffy._

“Makkachin,” he whispers.

“Sorry?”

As Viktor looks out the window, the clouds greet him. A chorus of Makkachin’s fluffiest brethren, here to wish him well on his journey. He hopes Makkachin’s at the end, wherever that is.

“Makkachin, my dog,” Viktor says. _“Makkachin.”_ The clouds love him. Makkachin loves him. _Yuuri_ loves him. There’s so much love.

“Vitya,” he hears, “are you crying?”

“No.” He’s not crying he’s just _so loved,_ and Yuuri understands and gives him more as he pulls Viktor close. Viktor’s face feels cold. Just on his cheeks, and when he wipes the cold away, water comes with it and maybe he _was_ crying but that doesn’t stop the love welling up in his stomach, his heart, his lungs, spreading through him as he sighs happily, snuggling into Yuuri.

His Yuuri.

_His fiancé._

When he remembers Yuuri’s reminder, that Yuuri promised to marry him, that Yuuri _loves_ him, he feels new tears running down his cheeks.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles.

“What are you sorry for?” Yuuri asks, and in his voice is only love, only kindness, and Yuuri’s so good and so gentle Viktor’s not sure he deserves it.

That’s not a happy thought, so he pushes it away.

“I’m getting your shirt wet,” he mutters, “but it’s good.”

“Oh?” Yuuri asks, rubbing Viktor’s shoulder.

“Makkachin’s so _fluffy,”_ is the only explanation he can think of. The fluff is so beautiful and it holds all of Makkachin’s love and Viktor wants to hold his dog while Yuuri holds him and he feels sleep tugging at his eyelids even as he sniffles against Yuuri’s torso. “It holds so much love,” he whispers. Yuuri pets his hair more, fingers gentle against Viktor’s scalp, and Viktor wishes he was doing the same thing to Makka and he misses his dog. Sighing, he lets himself settle into Yuuri’s side, closing his eyes as his fingers come to rest on the pendant under his shirt.

 

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s dim in the humming room they were in the last time. The plane. Viktor yawns, and the warm blob next to him shifts. It’s Yuuri Viktor sees when he looks up, brushing a piece of hair out of his fiancé’s eyes. They blink, and Yuuri props himself up on one arm with a grimace.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Viktor frowns and takes a moment to think. “My… chest. And my head. Hand?”

“Do they hurt?”

Viktor nods, and Yuuri lifts a hand to wave someone over.

It’s a nurse, and as he looks Viktor over, he asks questions. Viktor answers to the best of his ability, sometimes leaving Yuuri chuckling, but then the nurse gives Viktor something for the pain and leaves him to Yuuri.

“Do you want something to drink?” Yuuri asks.

“Coffee?” Yuuri makes such good coffee.

“I can ask for coffee, if you like.”

“I want _your_ coffee,” Viktor says.

“I can't make you coffee right now,” Yuuri responds, brushing Viktor’s bangs out of his face, “but I can ask them to bring some for you.”

“Who's ‘them?’” Viktor inquires.

“Flight staff,” Yuuri replies. “We’re still on the plane.”

“Where are we going, again?”

“Hasetsu,” Yuuri says patiently. “To the Palace.”

The Palace. Somehow it had completely slipped Viktor’s mind. “Is Makkachin at the Palace?”

Yuuri smiles. “Yep. He’ll be there waiting for us.”

“How long?” Viktor asks as he nuzzles into Yuuri’s chest. There’s a sharp intake of air as Yuuri shifts under him.

“An hour or so,” Yuuri says, “if you’re asking when we’re going to land.” His voice is strained now, his breathing carefully measured. If Viktor wasn’t feeling so nice he’d think Yuuri was in pain.

How Viktor feels has no effect on Yuuri, he remembers with startling clarity, and he pulls away, looking Yuuri in the eye.

“Are you hurt?” He has to know because his chest hurts a lot, even though it’s starting to feel better, his hand is still in a cast, and if he got hurt _Yuuri_ could have gotten hurt. His stomach turns to ice as he remembers the shout, the gunshots, remembers the impact against his back and chest, the sharp pain he’d been met with when he’d hit the floor and he shudders, closing his eyes.

A gentle kiss on his nose has him opening them again, staring into the rich brown of his fiancé’s.

“I am,” Yuuri says. Viktor’s face falls. He loves Yuuri; he doesn’t want Yuuri to feel bad.

“How?” Viktor asks.

There’s another kiss on his nose. “Some metal. A knife,” Yuuri says. “We can talk about it when you’re feeling better?”

Honestly, Viktor’s starting to feel floaty again, so he cuddles close, resting his head on Yuuri’s upper arm. Yuuri’s alive and here, and that’s what matters. “This okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” Yuuri responds, running his fingers through Viktor’s hair.

 

The lights are brighter than they were. Yuuri shifts next to Viktor just as there’s a huge jolt, and Viktor sits up with a start. Searing pain seizes his torso and he barely holds in a shout as he writhes against the chair, clutching his side as tightly as he dares. For a moment, he holds his breath, literal agony bringing tears to the corner of his eyes until he gasps for air, taking harsh breaths as quietly as he can.

“Vityusha?” he hears next to him. It’s Yuuri. His voice is so nice, but Viktor’s chest hurts so much and he can’t pay attention to both at once.

“Vitya, are you okay?”

Pulling his eyelids open, Viktor sees Yuuri leaning over him. “It hurts,” he whimpers through gritted teeth. Yuuri turns to the side, saying something Viktor can’t quite decipher through the fog in his brain, but soon enough, Yuuri leans close to him again.

“Doctor will check you out again at the Palace, he thinks it was just the landing that messed you up.”

“How long?” Viktor asks.

“We’re pulling into the hangar in a bit. There’s a car waiting, then it’s just the drive back to the palace and getting you into our bedroom.”

“And Makkachin will be there?”

Yuuri chuckles, warm and soothing and Viktor feels himself relaxing into the plush cushions just a bit. “Of course he’ll be there, Vitya,” Yuuri reassures. “We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t jump on you, but he’ll be there.”

There’s a woman’s voice, painfully familiar to Viktor but he can barely keep his eyes open. Whatever medication they have him on for the trip is almost mind-numbing, and before he can pick out who it is, he fades into unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

It sounds like someone’s shouting.

If not shouting, arguing.

Either way, it’s very loud and Viktor pulls himself as far out of the haze he’s in as he can. Behind him, the mattress is raised so he’s in a half-sitting position, but he’s still unable to see a good chunk of the room. There’s a glass of water next to the bed. He gingerly picks it up, drinking through the straw provided. His throat hurts. His chest is throbbing and he uses his legs and the hand that’s not in a cast to shift into a more upright sitting position with as little torso movement as he can manage.

“No, I’m fucking done! I’m _finished dealing with him!”_ Yuuri’s voice rings clearly through the wall. There’s a woman’s voice, Hiroko’s maybe? Mari’s? It could be Minako, or someone Viktor’s never met for all he knows. He’s lucky he’s aware of his surroundings enough to know he’s in their bedroom in Hasetsu.

Done with him? Who? Viktor feels his heart pound uncomfortably as he swallows bile. Is Yuuri talking about Viktor? _Them?_ Is this the end? Reaching over, he turns on the light. There’s a wheelchair in the corner of the room, but he can’t even fathom the thought of trying to get to it without help, much less using it with what feels like at least two broken ribs. Shifting his hips, he bites back a cry as pain again lances through him, radiating from both his chest and upper thigh.

He wasn’t fast enough. The shouting in the next room comes to an abrupt stop before there are footsteps padding over to the door. It creaks open, and Yuuri pokes his head in. With dark circles under his eyes and his hair disheveled he looks terrible, but the smile on his face makes Viktor’s heart ache.

“You’re awake,” he says softly, closing the door behind him before he limps over to the bed.

Craving Yuuri’s touch, Viktor finds himself leaning closer before he remembers his ribs. They still hurt, though it’s a dull throb at the moment, and he doesn’t know if moving is going to make it better or worse. He’s scared to find out. Looking at Yuuri, he does his best to talk around the lump in his throat.

“Help?”

“Help with what, Vityusha?”

“Prop me up,” Viktor says. Nodding, Yuuri moves around the bed.

“I'll raise it some more,” he says, picking up a plastic controller tucked into a pocket on the side. A hospital setup, then. Relief comes when Yuuri supports him, bringing the bed to meet Viktor’s back, letting him settle slowly into the mattress. Without the distraction of trying to avoid pain, however, Yuuri’s words float back to the front of his mind.

“Did you mean it?” Viktor asks, trying not to let the tears come through.

“Mean what?” Yuuri responds.

“That you’re done.” Viktor murmurs.

“Yes, I did,” Yuuri says. The tears prickling at the corner of Viktor’s eyes spill over, running down his cheeks. Fingers brush aside his hair, and Yuuri’s face comes into view, concern knit into his brow.

“Vitya, what is it you think I was talking about when I said I was done?”

At this point even swallowing is painful so Viktor just meets Yuuri’s eyes and gestures at himself.

“Done with _us?”_ Yuuri asks. Viktor nods. “No, Vityusha, no.” Shifting closer, Yuuri sits on the bed next to him, facing him and taking his hand. “No, I’m done with Takeda and his bullshit and the nobility trying to use me to their own ends. I’m done with the Palace having the last word about things. I’m done living in _fear,_ Vitya.”

“You still want to marry me?” Viktor’s mind is cloudy. He can’t tell if it’s the pain or the medication he assumes he’s still on, but either way, coherent thought doesn’t come easily.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “I do. I want very much to marry you, if you still want to marry me.”

“I do,” Viktor responds. Yuuri kisses him. It’s relief, it’s familiar, it’s comfort, it’s been far too long and Viktor cherishes it, cherishes the fact they’re both _here,_ both _alive._ Yuuri moves Viktor’s hand to his chest, bringing his fingers to rest on the pendant. A reminder, of their love. Of their desire to see all of this through.

Hiroko knocks on the door, then opens it. “How is he?” she asks her son.

“Lucid, kind of. For the most part,” Yuuri replies. For the most part, apparently. Viktor frowns. He’s lucid, thank you, if a bit emotional.

“Ow,” Viktor adds as best he can.

Yuuri nods, grabbing a bottle of pills on Viktor’s night stand. He holds it out in his bandaged left hand. “You’re supposed to take one of these, every six hours as you need for pain.”

Taking the bottle, Viktor looks it over. It’s been printed in English, thankfully enough, but he doesn’t recognize the medicine name. He’s opened it and pulled a pill out, dry swallowing quickly before he looks up to see Yuuri holding out a glass of water. Taking it, Viktor drains most of the glass before he sets it on his night stand. It’s a fancy glass. Everything here is so fancy and it’s so weird.

“Vitya you’ve been living here for going on half a year,” Yuuri says. “You should be used to the fanciness.”

“Stop it,” he mutters.

“Stop what?” Yuuri asks, pulling away.

“Brain reading.”

Raising an eyebrow, Yuuri looks at him. “You were speaking aloud, Vitya, I didn’t have to read your mind to hear you muttering about fancy cups.”

Viktor sticks his tongue out, yawns, and lets himself fall asleep again.

 

~*~

 

He wakes up to a cool hand on his forehead, kisses following. Blinking, he squints in the low lighting.

“Vitka, it’s me,” his mother says in soft Russian.

“Mamulya, you’re… you’re here?”

Soft, her laugh fills the room. “Of course I am. This is the fifth time you’ve asked, Pupsik.”

“Sorry.”

She kisses his forehead. “Don’t be. The medications they had you on were pretty heavy; I’m not surprised you don’t remember. How are you feeling? They changed your dosage, you should be a bit more awake now.”

Viktor groans. Smiling, she brushes her fingers on his cheek. “Do you remember what happened? What injuries you have?”

He shakes his head. Looking down as best he can, he takes note again of the cast on his arm, something on his leg, and he frowns when he looks up. Not unkindly, Alexandra chuckles. “Two of your ribs are broken,” she says, “and so’s your left wrist. Your hip has a lot of shallow cuts on it, but it should heal up pretty soon. The doctor says you fell on some glass.”

“I see,” Viktor responds, looking back down. It could have been far worse, he knows, and it’s not hard to imagine some of the possibilities. Blinking owlishly, he looks back at his mother. “Why are you here?”

“Once the attack happened, Hiroko called and asked if we wanted to come out to see you.”

“Someone else?” he asks. His mother shakes her head.

“No, I came alone. Lyosha’s on a dig and your mother didn’t want to leave Katya with anyone. They’ll be out when they can.”

Trying to nod, Viktor makes a move as if to sit up only to feel her gentle hand on his shoulder. She holds up the remote, pressing a button to make the bed start rising and he’s moved into a relatively-closer-to-sitting position. Sitting in the plush armchair next to the bed, Alexandra takes his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Hiroko called and explained what was going on.”

“She explained?” Viktor croaks, coughing once or twice and screwing his face up in agony as Alexandra holds a cup to his lips.

“Drink, Vitka,” she says, only letting go of the cup when his hand wraps around it. He uses the bendy straw provided, cheap plastic in a crystal glass and he chuckles, instantly regretting it. Looking at him sympathetically, his mother pushes his bangs behind his ear again.

“Once news broke of the attack, Hiroko called us and explained everything,” she says. “Threats and secret engagement included. She wanted to make sure we knew before the world did.”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says as fresh tears gather in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so _sorry.”_

Her hand, cool on his cheek turns his face towards her, though she doesn’t ask him to open his eyes. “Vityenka, no, you don’t need to apologize. We told you to make your choice, and you did, and we support you. We know why you didn’t say anything.”

It echoes everything he told Yuuri about the deception, especially at the beginning of their time here. _“I understand. I know why. I’m not angry.”_ For a moment, he holds his breath and then his chest is aching and his throat is tight and breathing was hard enough when he just had to _do_ it but now he’s doing it through the pain in his ribs, around tears caught in his throat, around the fear he’s been holding in for so long, around the overwhelming love he has for his family and the regret that he’s caused them so much worry and a searingly vivid new understanding of how Yuuri must have been feeling a few months ago. How he might still be feeling. Screwing his eyes shut, he gasps shallowly, desperately for air until he feels his mother’s hands on his cheeks again. She kisses his forehead, hushing him and reassuring him as she strokes his hair like she did when he was younger, like she had the first time he’d gone to the Olympics, young and terrified and on top of the world.

_Oh, how he’s missed her._

Tea is requested, solid food as well, though nothing too firm. Viktor is served on a silver tray that goes over his lap, the simple oatmeal he’s given artfully plated with small serving bowls of condiments. They bring coffee for them as well, strong and still hot even when they add cream.

“Eat, Vityen’ka,” his mother says.

“How long will you be here?” he asks, dumping peanut butter into his bowl. Bananas follow, freshly sliced, and he stirs everything together.

“A week or so, maybe two,” she answers patiently. Almost as if she’s explained before but she probably _has._ “I'll be back with your mother and siblings once they're all available, if they aren’t able to make it out in that time.”

“You're staying here? At the Palace?” Viktor asks. It's awkward holding the bowl in place with one hand in a cast, but more awkward to try to hold a spoon, so he muddles through.

His mother nods. “I am. Hiroko’s been kind enough to give me a bedroom off her apartments, nearby so I can come see you.”

“When did you arrive?” Chewing is harder than he thought it would be but not by much, and he manages to eat while Alexandra answers.

“I flew out with you, Vitka. When Hiroko called, she offered to fly us out to St. Petersburg to see you, and I came alone and accompanied you to Hasetsu.”

Viktor nods. She talks while he eats, in low, soothing tones as she tells him about what his brother’s been up to, how Katya’s been doing in school. She’s been getting good marks, apparently, and has been doing well in her ice hockey lessons. The skates she’d gotten were perfect, Alexei’d made sure they were high-quality and sized well. Viktor would hope so, they’d cost as much as the skates he’d gotten for competition when he was younger, before he was nationally known. He reminds his mother that blade sharpening and replacement is something he’s happy to pay for, and to use the card he has set up for them for all of that, too.

“Vitka, we can handle her skates,” she says. “We handled yours until you were able to take care of them on your own, we can handle hers.”

“Mamulya,” he says, “let me? I have the means as it is, and I’m marrying… into this.” He gestures at the lavish bedroom he’s in, at the Palace and grounds around them and his mother frowns.

“I don’t want you to feel like you need to take care of us,” she responds carefully. “You’ve devoted enough of yourself to other people.”

His throat tightens again, and he rests his head on his pillows, takes a deep breath and looks at his mother. “Mamulya, please. To make up for the time I’ve missed.” He’s crying now, again, and she sets her coffee on his nightstand, leans up and kisses his forehead.

“If it’s that important to you,” she says, “fine, but I want to make one thing clear. You’re not ‘making up for’ anything, you don’t need to earn our love, Vityen’ka. You don’t need to drown us in gifts to remind us that you love us. We know.”

He starts crying again. It begins as a trickle, as a few tears just making their way down his face but quickly grows into ugly sobs, him doing his best to breathe around the pain and he’s reasonably sure this isn’t what the doctor meant when she emphasized the importance of deep breathing. Alexandra moves the tray from his lap, sits on the side of his bed and holds him as best she can.

Pressing cool lips to his forehead, she whispers reassurance, whispers her love, her affection, how she knows Viktor is struggling and how she holds nothing against him and he feels worse even as he starts to feel better.

He’s still clinging to her when Yuuri pokes his head in.

“I can come back,” he says sheepishly when he sees them.

Looking at Viktor, Alexandra checks to see if he wants Yuuri to leave. He shakes his head, reaching one hand out as best he can towards his fiancé. Yuuri smiles and limps over to stand at Viktor’s side of the bed.

“Yuuri,” Alexandra says, switching to English, “sit down.”

“I couldn't possibly take your—”

“I'm fine here,” she says. “Rest your leg.”

Nodding, Yuuri lowers himself onto the cushion and leans carefully against the arm of the chair. He’s in a t-shirt, which is the only reason Viktor can see the bandages winding their way up his left arm, covering the defensive wounds he got. Because of the shirt’s thin material, it’s easy to see the bulk of more bandages on Yuuri’s upper chest. “How are you feeling, Vitya?” he asks.

“Sore, still,” Viktor says, putting on a smile as he rubs his face.

“I can imagine,” Yuuri replies. “Mrs. Nikiforova, how are you finding your accommodations?”

“Splendid, Yuuri,” she says. “How’s your leg doing? I see you’re up and around?”

“What exactly happened to you?” Viktor asks. “You haven’t told me.”

“To be fair,” Yuuri says, “you’ve been sleeping.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. Sinking into the chair, Yuuri sighs. “When… when the bridge was attacked I jumped over the side, into the water, and got a nasty but relatively shallow cut on my chest from a piece of metal jutting out. Twisted my ankle running to your place, then when Kataoka-san attacked she had both a gun and a knife? Yulian got the gun away early on, but she knocked him over, stabbed my leg, and tried to get at the rest of me before I fought her off with one of your ice skates.”

“You did what with my _what?”_ Viktor asks.

“Uhh… your gear bag was _right there_ and the gun was a bit far so I grabbed one of your skates? I’ll replace them.”

“Yura’s going to get a kick out of that,” Viktor mutters. Yuuri snorts.

“I’m sure he will.” He sighs, leaning back more. “I should be back to rights in a month or so, the knife didn’t hit anything major so it’s relatively clean sailing from here. The cuts on my arm won't take long at all.”

“That’s good to hear,” Viktor says. “You’ll still come visit your injured fiancé?” It’ll be a while before Viktor’s mostly healed. The cuts on his hip shouldn’t pose much of a problem, and while inconvenient, the broken wrist won't do much more than make things difficult for a while but his ribs, even properly aligned, won’t heal quickly. It’ll be longer than that before he’s back on the ice, longer still before he’s able to compete again. _If_ he’s able to compete again. He wonders if this is how his career is going to end, not with a bang, but with a muffled thump that, in Viktor’s mind, sounds suspiciously like the impact he made with his couch.

“I’ll be sleeping in here with you,” Yuuri says, smiling. “Of course I’ll still be in. You should be up and around in a week or so anyway.”

“Where’s Makkachin?” Viktor asks.

“Outside with my mom, she’s taking him on his walk,” Yuuri answers. “He’s really taken a liking to her, since we’ve been keeping him in her rooms. She’ll bring him here, though.”

“Why hasn’t he been with me?” Viktor asks.

“You know how he lays on you,” Yuuri answers. “We can’t risk that sort of weight on your ribs, and since you were asleep, we might not have noticed until you woke up in pain. You need to heal, Vitya, but we can start allowing him in here when you’re awake.”

“I’d like that,” Viktor says with more bite than he means, but Yuuri just nods.

“I’ll make sure he’s here as much as possible,” he reassures Viktor.

“What’s going on?” Viktor asks. “No one’s told me much of anything, and I don’t know where my phone is.”

First, Yuuri opens the drawer of Viktor’s bedside table, pulling his phone out from where it’s been charging. Once Viktor has it in hand, Yuuri sighs and leans back in the chair. “It’s honestly a shit show,” he says. “Russia’s angry that people tried to blame an assassination on them, though we’ve talked with the government and everything’s good now. It was unquestionably our people that did it, so we’ve made it clear we don’t hold it against Russia and won’t allow them to be blamed. As far as your fans go… People are pissed you were hurt, think it’s… my fault. There’s some talk about me trying to keep you out of figure skating?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t there have been far easier ways of doing that?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, “but. People.”

“And Akitsushima?” Viktor asks.

With another deep breath, Yuuri closes his eyes, does his best to center himself. “Heavily divided,” he answers. “We’re conducting investigations, having people look into everyone involved. There’s no evidence against Takeda, so he’s currently just under surveillance. Kataoka-san is in jail. Awaiting trial. We have clear evidence for her, two eyewitness accounts and she was caught red-handed almost by everyone else.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“Aren’t I a third witness?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, but you’d been… very heavily medicated for a bit. I’m sure police will want a statement when you’re feeling up to it. The guard who got sick wasn’t, actually, and they were apprehended trying to leave a building with a sniper rifle.”

“Are they the one that shot at you?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies. “They panicked and tried to go for me when they figured out you weren't going to show. They were supposed to get you but… you were at the rink. Luckily. It probably saved your life.”

There’s a quick intake of air from Viktor’s mother, her hands grip his more tightly for a moment. Viktor squeezes hers in return, and looks back at Yuuri. “What about Hana?” he asks.

He regrets it almost instantly. Yuuri looks torn, worried, hurt, scared… she’s the only person who’s been a constant in his life since before he left, she’s his big sister, and whatever is happening seems far less than ideal. Was she involved somehow?

After another deep breath, Yuuri speaks in a shaky whisper. “She’s being held for now,” he says. “Her mother… since it was Kataoka-san that was involved, they’re trying to see if she was, too. Seeing if she had any ties to the plots, any hand in trying to kill you or me. It’s stupid.” Though his eyes are shining, Yuuri sounds almost furious. “It’s- She had years to kill me if she wanted, and she _could_ have, _easily,_ and made it look like an accident or health problems or something. She’d have come home a hero,” he chokes, “they’d have lauded her for doing her best even though she failed. There’s no way. There’s _no way_ she was involved, she couldn’t have been. She was _helping us!_ She kept me _safe!”_ Tears are running down Yuuri’s face, and Viktor turns to hug him but can’t. He can still barely move, and Yuuri’s sitting there, crying, and he can’t do anything else.

A plaintive look in his mother’s direction has her smiling at him and giving a nod. Standing, she moves towards Yuuri, bending down and pulling him into her arms. Taller than Viktor, her stature has always been somewhat intimidating to those who don’t know her. For Viktor, it’s always been a comfort. She’s taller than him by a few centimeters, still, and he’s always found solace in her arms, no matter how much he’d grown. Now, she’s comforting his fiancé in his stead. As much as it hurts seeing Yuuri cry into Alexandra’s shoulder while Viktor only wants to offer the same comfort, he’s at least glad there’s someone there to give him a good hug.

His mamulya gives very good hugs.

When Hiroko walks in a moment later, Yuuri jerks back, scrubs his face before seeing her sad smile. With a nod, she gives her approval and with a grateful attempt at a smile, Yuuri allows himself to be pulled back into Alexandra’s embrace. Hiroko lets Makkachin off his leash. It doesn’t take long for Makka to register that Viktor’s awake, and he’s up on the bed in no time, nosing at Viktor’s hand. Running his fingers through Makka’s fur, Viktor breathes as deeply as he’s able, holds back the sob crawling up his throat. He’s here. He has his dog, has his Yuuri, his mother… He’s safe. They don’t have to hide. They’re in Hasetsu and despite the pain he’s in Viktor knows he’s closer to safe than he’s been in months, and he has Yuuri.

He’s safe.

He’s _safe,_ and suddenly he’s crying.

Whining, Makka crawls closer to him, pushes at his hand in search of more attention and Viktor scratches at him behind the ears. It takes a second for his mamulya to notice, but when she sees his tears she looks back down at Yuuri, still crying in her arms, clinging to her shirt and the next thing Viktor knows, Hiroko’s moving into his line of vision. As short as she is, she’s the perfect height to hug Viktor around the head, careful not to jostle his torso. Her small hands comb through his hair, soothing him as he lets the tears run.

It’s almost funny, that he and Yuuri are each being comforted by the other’s mother, or one of them, but at the same time it pulls at something in him, warming him with the knowledge that his family still holds no resentment towards his fiancé, or at least none visible. Moving his arms hurts so he settles for gripping the bottom of Hiroko’s sleeve, bunching the fabric in his fingers as he tries to regulate his breathing, to avoid the stabbing pain that seems to be all he knows at this point. Viktor can’t remember the last time breathing had been easy. Painless. He can’t remember when much of anything had been painless.

Resting her cheek on his hair, Hiroko whispers constant reassurance, constant love, reminds Viktor he’s here, in Hasetsu, he’s safe, he’s alive, they won’t let him get hurt again. She reminds him that his mother is here, that he has his dog, she does her best to ground him and even through the medication and pain it’s working.

Relief floods him, breaks his emotional walls, his desperate need to be perfect, and he allows himself to feel openly, in front of people who aren't Yuuri, for the first time in years.

 

~*~

 

His first week back in Hasetsu is the least eventful week he’s had since he arrived to begin with. Spending most of his time propped up in bed is harder than he’d have imagined. He’s used to moving, to exercising. To being able to take a shower without his fiance’s help and one hand wrapped in a plastic bag. Yuuri's good about it, though, tenderly massaging shampoo and conditioner into his hair, gently soaping him up where he can’t reach and making sure he’s all rinsed off.

Shaving is almost impossible, and after a week of growth, his mother pulls him into the ornate en-suite bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit,” she says, sitting him down in a chair she’d had brought. Viktor’s tempted to pout, but he’s been scratching at his face for three days and she knows it’s getting on his nerves. She’s gentle with him, starting with warm water on his face and gently lathering up his shaving cream, applying it in small circles she rubs into his growing beard. Picking up his razor, she stands behind him and watches the mirror as she starts with long, careful strokes on his neck.

“You can stand in front of me,” Viktor says as she rinses off the razor.

She chuckles. “I learned how to shave on myself before I transitioned, so it’s easier like this. The angles are similar enough.” Kissing the whorl of his hair, she continues, watching carefully in the mirror as she manipulates Viktor’s face with skilled fingers. It’s almost no time at all until she’s done, years of experience long ago still somehow steadying her hand. Once she’s wiped the last of the cream off his face, she kisses his cheek, smiling at him in the mirror.

“There’s my handsome boy,” she says. He raises an eyebrow. Touching his face, though, he smiles. The shave is perfect, and helping him feel more like himself than he’d realized it would.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri jumps when there’s a knock on their door. Walking over, the attendant standing on the other side clearly doesn't expect the King to answer the door in person, if the shock on their face is any indication, but they recover quickly. Bowing, first at Yuuri and then in Viktor’s direction, they then adjust their uniform as they address Yuuri.

“Your Majesty, His Royal Highness the Grand Duke has requested your a visit with you in your study, Sire. He says he has information pertaining to the investigation.”

“What sort of information?” Yuuri asks.

“I wasn’t made aware of the nature of His Royal Highness’s findings, Sire. My deepest apologies.”

With a nod, Yuuri stands. “Please inform my uncle that I will meet him there shortly. I’d like coffee brought as well.”

“As you wish, Sire,” the attendant says, “coffee service for just yourself and the Grand Duke, or will Mr. Nikiforov be joining you?”

Glancing back at Viktor, Yuuri raises one eyebrow in question. Viktor nods. “I’ll be going,” he says, “and would also appreciate some biscotti, as well. Almond, if it’s available.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says. Yuuri nods, and the attendant leaves with a bow. Turning to look at Viktor, Yuuri frowns, crossing his arms.

“Are you sure you’re up to going?” he asks. “Your ribs…”

“The pain medication helps,” Viktor replies, rubbing the sore spot on his side. It still hurts to do pretty much anything, but the medication makes the hurt manageable, as long as he doesn’t breathe too hard. Or twist his torso, or sit wrong, or…

Point is, the medication helps enough Viktor feels well enough to do this, and he stands. Holding his breath for a moment, he screws his eyes shut as he swallows the pain. Already, it’s taking too long for his ribs to heal. He’s getting restless, his need for physical activity warring with his inability to move properly and it’s driving him up a wall. The pain subsides some, and he smiles at his fiancé.

“I’ll be okay, Yuuri,” he says. “I’d like to hear whatever it is your uncle found.”

Nodding, Yuuri rocks forward on his tiptoes to kiss Viktor. Yuuri changes into something more acceptable for court, still forgoing the fitted undershirt in favor of one of the new looser ones, so as not to irritate the cuts on his arm, and puts on a relatively simple crown. It’s more of a day-to-day outfit, clearly more comfortable than his normal fare.

 

Isamu’s waiting when they get there, standing as they’re announced. As Viktor goes to take his seat, Yuuri offers his hand for support. Taking it gratefully, Viktor lowers himself into the chair. It’s a huge breach of propriety, Viktor sitting before Yuuri does, but the concern on Yuuri’s face says he doesn’t care. He takes his place in the armchair nearest Viktor, Isamu at the one opposite without comment.

“You look well,” Isamu says to Viktor.

“Doing alright, as much as I can be,” Viktor replies.

“Good to hear. We have some news regarding the investigation. First, Yuuri-sama, we’ve had a cryptographer— a professional cryptographer your aunt is friends with— look over the forum posts we were concerned with. He did some more cross-checking with threats and dates and they match up. He’s worked out much of what they’re saying, and is working on picking out posts made by innocent staff as opposed to those in the know.”

“So even when I was a child, it was an inside job.”

“We believe so, but evidence points to some accounts being made by people outside of the staff. With internet technology being what it was, this was far less preventable back then. The likelihood is someone in the Palace’s security department was involved in authorizing these users.”

“What makes him say this?”

“The suspected accounts only ever posted in the threads used for coordinating attacks. Some accounts were made just before or just after, always within a day or so. We’re doing our best to sort through, still, and hopefully find further information that will lead to some more arrests and, hopefully, Takeda and his ilk.”

Yuuri sighs, clasps his fingers in front of himself and nods. “And we don’t have any idea as to who these people are?”

“No, I’m sorry to say.”

“Will Emi-obasan’s friend have more information for us soon?”

“He’s working as fast as he can, and I’ll be sure to let you know the instant it becomes available.”

It’s obvious Yuuri’s not happy with the answer, but it’s the best he’s going to get.

“What about the recent attack? What information do we have? How are they justifying holding Hana-nee?”

Isamu sighs. “That… I asked, just in case they had no grounds, but… Yuuri-sama she was friendly with the guard that shot at you, she’s Kataoka Atsuko’s daughter, and… they found a few sentences in recent communications about some agreements that she’d try to make sure things ran smoothly. Screenshots of an email with her account name, texts from her number and the like. All of them promised you and Viktor would be at the bridge ‘as arranged.’ They’re only to Kataoka Atsuko-san and the guard who shot at you. It’s enough evidence to justify a more thorough investigation of Hana-san.”

Blanching, Yuuri has to take a moment before he looks back at his uncle, livid. “She had— screenshots can easily be faked, Oji-san, trust me. I’ve made enough memes to know. Have them check actual records.”

“The phone got damaged,” he says. “Corrupted somehow and they think it’s an attempt to cover something up.”

“Like her innocence maybe? Oji-san, how would… she knew Viktor was going to be at the rink, if she was trying to get him killed, why would she _lie_ about that?”

“I told the people in prosecution, the ones having her held. They say it’s an excuse. Yuuri-sama, anyone can claim to have known something well before they actually knew it, and we can’t _prove_ she knew ahead of time.”

“Yulian was there.”

“And could be lying to protect a friend.”

“Vitya was there, too.”

“Viktor is your fiancé, they’d have a hard time proving he wasn’t lying to placate you. They won’t believe you, either, because you had fifteen years to get brainwashed by her, in their eyes, and could very easily just be lying to get her out of trouble.”

“So we’re fucked, then,” Yuuri says. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m afraid not, Yuuri-sama,” Isamu replies. “We’ll have to see what happens if they can get the phone working, and if any further information comes to light.”

 

~*~

 

“Vityusha.”

“Mm?” Propped up in an armchair, Viktor looks up from the book he’s reading. An apprehensive look on his face, Yuuri is staring at him from where he's been playing video games on the couch.

“I'm supposed to make a speech in a couple of days, to sort of brief the public on what’s been going on. Tell them there’s not any conflict with Russia, clarify some shit. I've had the Head of Defense doing most of the press conferences so far, but as King, I really ought to say something myself. It carries more weight.”

“Okay,” Viktor says.

“We need- I need… It would be an appropriate time to confirm our engagement, if it’s still…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, eyes narrowed, “if you keep asking me if I want to go back on this I'm going to randomly put salt in your tea for the rest of your life.”

Much like a fish, Yuuri gapes at him, mouth opening and closing for a moment.

“I'm serious,” Viktor continues. “You’ve made it more than clear I can leave at any time, and _I'm still here._ Doesn't that _mean something_ to you?”

“It means the world to me, Vitya, I just- I need to be sure. Before I re-confirm the engagement.”

“I'm sure, Lyubov. Even after what happened, I want to marry you.”

Yuuri starts crying. It starts with a trickle of tears growing into twin streams running down his face. Setting his book down, Viktor stands as best he can, gesturing for Yuuri to come to him. As he wipes his eyes he does so, moving to stand in front of Viktor. With a gentle touch, Viktor brings Yuuri’s face up, thumbs away the worst of the tears before kissing his forehead.

“I love you,” Viktor says. “I know this won't be easy, it hasn't been, but you're worth it. I want to be with you, anxiety and title and rules and threats and all.”

Though he clearly wants to hug Viktor, Yuuri refrains, instead bringing his hands to rest on Viktor’s arms. Viktor doesn't miss the way his eyes dart to the cast when his hand makes contact, the way his fingers brush gently over a small part of it before just barely coming to rest. Guilt is in his eyes in the brief moment he meets Viktor’s, before he looks to the side.

Sighing, Viktor lets his hands come to rest on his fiancé’s waist, the closest he can get to a hug without feeling like he’s getting stabbed. Gently, Yuuri does the same, rubbing comfort into Viktor’s hips with his thumbs as he takes deep breaths.

“We’re getting married,” Yuuri says, closing his eyes in some mix of relief and disbelief.

“We are,” Viktor confirms.

“You should be there, then,” he says, “during the speech. It’s… United front, support, and all that jazz. You know?”

“And I’m the future King-Consort.” It’s the first time Viktor’s said it aloud and it carries a much heavier weight than it does in his head. So far, verbal discussion has stayed in the hypothetical, but now that the public knows, now that he and Yuuri have again confirmed their desire for a future together, it’s not.

“You are,” Yuuri says. “Living Legend, National Hero, future King-Consort of Akitsushima. You have more titles than I do.”

“Are they as impressive as ‘King’ though?”

Yuuri shrugs. “At least you’ve earned them.” He sighs, relieved. “I'll have them bring an interpreter in. It's going to be in Japanese, since first and foremost I'm addressing my subjects. I'll be doing an international press conference in a day or two.”

“Will I be expected to be there?” Viktor asks.

“You will,” Yuuri says. “You'll be expected to accompany me unless you're busy doing something else, or otherwise incapacitated. As of our announcement, and especially our marriage, you will be an extension of the Crown.”

 

~*~

 

“Why did you have them bring me back?” Viktor asks, sitting on an armchair while his mother gets the samovar going.

“You wanted to come back,” she replies, her soft Russian filling the room as she measures out tea leaves. “We asked, and you said you didn’t want to stay in St. Petersburg, you wanted to go to Hasetsu. You were… admittedly a bit out of it, since the pain medication was so strong, but your mother and I also thought it was the best course of action.”

“But it’s harder for you to visit, here,” Viktor says. Yekaterinburg isn't that far from St. Petersburg by air, much closer than Hasetsu, and that niggling feeling of rejection makes its way into his mind. Perhaps it’s a convenient excuse not to come see him. Perhaps they assume he doesn't _want_ to see them. Perhaps—

“We thought you’d want to be close to Yuuri while you recovered. He couldn't stay in Russia and you’re far better protected here as it is, so we talked once I got to St. Petersburg and decided to bring you back here. As far as visiting goes, a day of travel is a day of travel either way, Vitka. We don't mind the longer trip if it means you're where you’ll feel better.”

Biting his lip, Viktor nods. He wonders if it feels like a rejection to them, that he wants to be near Yuuri while he processes what happened, heals from his injuries with the only person who would understand. His mother pushes a warm cup of tea into his good hand.

“Drink, Vitka,” she says. He does, swallowing tears with the first gulp. As a child, he’d loved her tea, how she always made it when he was feeling down or tired after his skating lessons. After he’d moved out, he’d never quite been able to replicate it and he missed it more than he’d realized.

“I want to go home,” he says.

Alexandra’s eyes widen as she sits across from him. “You want to leave? Did we make the wrong decision?”

“No, no, I just… I want to visit. Sometime.” Taking a deep breath, he looks at his mug. “Can I?”

Her face saddens as she leans forward, cupping his cheek. “Of course, Vitka,” she says. “You don't have to _ask_ to come see us. We’ll figure out some time for you and Yuuri to come visit. Or just you, whatever you’d like.”

“I want to bring Yuuri,” he says, “but security measures would need to be taken, and it'll be…”

“Inconvenient?” When Viktor nods, his mother reached out to put her hand on his knee. “Vityen’ka, you visiting won't be an inconvenience. With or without your fiancé, we will always welcome you.”

“But Yuuri—”

“Is my future son-in-law and I will _not_ have you thinking visiting home will be an inconvenience for us! We love you, we love Yuuri, and security measures are part of life for _both_ of you, now. They’re a part of ours too.”

Nodding, Viktor takes another sip of tea. There’s a knock on the door, an attendant opening it after Viktor calls for them to come in. “Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, bowing, “Mrs. Nikiforova, I was sent to inform you that should you wish to join the Their Royal Majesties and Their Royal Highnesses for dinner, it will be held in the small formal dining room rather than the private dining room.”

“Why is that?” Viktor asks.

“His Majesty has taken into consideration the doctor’s advice regarding yourself, sir, and has asked meals be taken at a table with chairs rather than one at which you kneel on the floor.”

“And the small formal dining room is which, again?” Viktor asks. Where he expects a look of derision, he instead sees the attendant drop her eyes to the floor as she gives directions and a description of the room. It’s one Viktor’s eaten in before, when they’d entertained guests, and when he thanks her, telling her they'll be there, she bows again.

“Of course, sir,” she says. “I will inform the kitchens and the Royal Family. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Shaking his head, Viktor thanks her again as she leaves.

“Well,” his mamulya says, “they’re certainly treating you well.”

“Yeah…” They are. A bit _too_ well, compared to how they did before he left, but at this point he’s not going to complain. In the aftermath of the recent attack, everyone seems to be on their best behavior.

 

It’s worse on the walk over. Every guard Viktor passes lowers their head, and the ones outside the dining room bow as he approaches the door. In unison, they open the double doors, and one steps inside.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he announces, “and his mother, Mrs. Alexandra Nikiforova.”

Hiroko turns to smile at him. Yuuri is nowhere to be found, neither is Mari, but Viktor and his mother are directed to sit across from Hiroko. Alexandra helps Viktor sit before taking her seat next to him.

Looking at his mother, Viktor whispers, “when Yuuri comes in we have to stand.”

“Why?”

Viktor shrugs. “He’s the monarch.”

“Vicchan, you can stay seated, you're injured,” Hiroko says, just in time as the doors open a moment later.

“His Royal Majesty, King Yuuri and Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Mari.”

Everyone at the table rises as Yuuri enters, save Viktor, and he sees relief in Yuuri’s eyes when he meets them. He sits to Viktor’s right, taking his hand as everyone gets settled in.

“How are you feeling?” he asks Viktor.

“The good part is the pills they have me taking for pain are mostly effective.”

Yuuri grimaces as tea is set on the table. “That bad?”

“I'm healing,” he replies.

Nodding, Yuuri looks around the table. “I'd like to do away with propriety. I feel everyone would be more comfortable that way.”

“Of course, Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko replies. “Alexandra, how’s everything going?”

“Well. It's been nice seeing Vitka again,” she says, smiling, “and getting to know you all in person.” She looks less nervous than Viktor would expect from someone sitting down with royalty for the first time in her life, but then his mother’s always had a quiet confidence he’s admired since childhood.

Polite conversation turns to Alexandra and Hiroko sharing childhood stories about Viktor and Yuuri’s antics. Yuuri blushes when his mother talks about him cramming himself under a desk while his father met with the Japanese Prime Minister, Alexandra shares the time Hilaire had a high-level client over and Viktor had sat his diapered butt down on their bag and refused to move. Hiroko counters with Yuuri stripping nude and streaking through the family’s Summer Palace as staff did their best to catch him. He’d been three years old and had jumped into a fountain to splash before he’d been retrieved. Alexandra talks about Viktor crawling up to the bimah in temple once, giggling when the rabbi had picked him up and continued the morning prayers.

Their voices are fond as they talk about their children, Mari and Alexei and Katya being added to the cast of characters. Things die down quickly, though. Hiroko and Mari have nothing to tell from Yuuri’s time in the States, and Yuuri himself is less than forthcoming. Alexandra, knowing of Yuuri’s absence, is likely trying to avoid rubbing in that she’s had an ongoing relationship with all her children. Well, the ones who bothered to keep in contact. Viktor sighs, supposing that his rare phone calls count on some level. If only barely.

They move on to stories about their travels, their spouses, their younger years, and with every story the differences between their worlds are made obvious. Though it’s clear Hiroko isn't gloating, the minute details add emphasis. Yuuri getting chased by staff, Mari playing hide-and-seek on the grounds, the sheer number of prominent names and locations that pepper the tales… It all serves to delineate the boundaries between their backgrounds.

Yuuri doesn't seem to notice the differences, looking down while he eats. Viktor notices he picks at his food until everyone else is done, only then finishing the last few bites. Within moments of him putting his silverware down, their dishes are whisked away and Viktor understands. He’s making sure everyone has time to eat, since in more formal settings meals are structured around the rate at which he finishes each course.

The next is brought out, and the one after that and through both Viktor takes note of Yuuri’s meandering pace. Dessert ends up being a selection of traditional desserts. Alexandra delights in trying some of Viktor’s favorites with a fresh Sachiman green tea, taking a particular liking to sweet bean stuffed pastries. Hiroko promises a large selection of tea and pastries sent home with her. It’s comforting how familiar they are, how friendly the atmosphere at the table is. There are many reasons for tension, Alexandra could be blaming the Royal Family for putting her son in danger, for getting him hurt, stressing him out, locking him in a gilded cage, and yet she doesn’t seem to hold any ill will.

Viktor’s made his choice, and she respects that, and they smile and laugh at their first dinner as a family.

 

~*~

 

Dressed in jeans and a button-up, Viktor is sitting on the upstairs terrace with a book when the glass door opens and an attendant walks out, bowing. “Mr. Nikiforov, Okukawa Minako-san is here to see you.”

“I’m ready,” he replies, putting his bookmark in place. The attendant stands aside as Minako walks out, bowing once more as they close the door behind them. Minako walks over, smiling as she comes to sit at the table.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “thank you for having me. I—”

“Can I ask you something?” he interrupts.

“Of course, sir,” she says.

“Why the formality? I… I thought it was just the staff being weird for a bit, but you usually call me ‘Viktor.’ Or at least not ‘sir.’”

“Ah, His Majesty didn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?” Viktor asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing _bad,”_ Minako says before Viktor can get carried away with speculation. “As you’re now, formally, His Majesty’s fiancé and our future King-Consort, propriety now dictates that you be treated as a member of the Royal Family at all times. This means you’re to be deferred to by anyone who _isn’t_ royalty, including by myself.”

“I see,” Viktor says. Though he wishes Yuuri’d mentioned it, he could see how it would slip his mind. He sighs and coffee is brought out for them. “I suppose I’m to conduct myself as royalty as well?”

“That’s the topic of our discussion today,” Minako says. “Now that you’re engaged, though it’s _technically_ not official until you two sign your Intent to Wed tomorrow, further rules will apply as far as conduct and such. You will soon be royalty, and you will be expected to start acting the part immediately.”

Still staring at his coffee, Viktor nods, looking back up when Minako speaks again. “You know, Mr. Nikiforov, you _do_ have leeway to dictate how people treat you in what you consider private. Such as on a terrace.”

“Leeway?”

“You can specify terms of address, how people talk to you and such when you’re alone with them, according to your comfort. Propriety dictates specific behaviors _unless told otherwise._ His Majesty has used this privilege on many occasions.”

Smiling, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, Viktor nods. “Lesson number one?”

“You could consider it such,” Minako says fondly.

“Then ‘Vitya’ is fine in private, Sensei. Casual speech as well.” Giving his teacher permission to use a certain tone of voice is viscerally uncomfortable, makes Viktor’s skin writhe as he takes a bite out of a pastry. Everything’s starting to feel more real even than it had.

“Of course, Vitya,” Minako says as she leans back in her chair. “In continuation of this impromptu lesson, you must understand that if someone who is aware of propriety speaks to you familiarly when you haven’t asked them to specifically, especially in public, it is an insult. It’s a bit stickier with you, since you’re a public figure, but as far as court and the Palace goes, you are to be deferred to. Not with the same deep respect as His Royal Majesty, but at the very minimum you are to be afforded the same respect as, say, Princess Rie. You are to be addressed as ‘Mr. Nikiforov’ or ‘Sir’ at all times. Some may go with ‘My Lord,’ though it’s less a formal honorific so much as acknowledgement of your position. If anyone aside from the Royal Family does otherwise, they will be spoken to.”

Pulling his binder close, Viktor starts taking notes. Minako discusses everything from who he’s expected to bow to (members of the Royal Family and _only_ members of the Royal Family), what he’s expected to wear (Western with some traditional thrown in is good, and he’ll have another wardrobe made in a similar style to Yuuri’s with a fitting this afternoon), and how he’s expected to act on a daily basis (like he has been, but _more)._ It’s alienating, in a way. This rigid, structured life, the expectation that people interact with him in a highly specific way— he’d been expecting this more and more as he’d gotten used to seeing Yuuri in his daily life, but he’d never anticipated how it would _feel._

No wonder Minako’d been so strict, had added more and more rules as soon as she’d thought Viktor was ready— she’d said she was preparing him, and she’d meant it. He knows she won’t be acting too differently when they’re in private, especially now that he’s… given her permission to call him by name and treat him normally, but in public it’s a whole different story.

He wonders if this is how Yuuri feels sometimes, mourning the easy lifestyle he’d lost in favor of this one. Viktor’s blood isn’t royal yet, but it’s starting to feel that way, and he sighs as he looks out the window.

“— or, really, anything,” Minako finishes.

“Sorry?” Heat crawls up his cheeks.

Sighing, Minako takes a sip of her coffee. “I was saying, Vitya, that despite your position as a celebrity athlete of sorts, you unfortunately won’t be permitted to autograph anything anymore. Not with your given name.”

“I can’t just sign everything ‘Vitya,’” he says, “it’s too— why is this?”

“Forgeries,” Minako says. “Your legal signature is your legal signature, whether it’s on paperwork or a poster. We’ll likely require you add something, maybe your patronymic initial, for legal paperwork now to differentiate between signatures before and after the engagement.”

“I have _fans,”_ Viktor protests. “I have a _reputation._ What am I supposed to do, turn down every autograph request?”

“Or find a different way to sign. The smilies at Ice Castle are quite cute, why not use those?” she suggests.

Despite a protest on the tip of his tongue, Viktor takes a moment to think about it. He _could_ draw the heart-mouthed smiley face in lieu of his name. People have enjoyed it well enough before, and it's something distinctive enough that it could be considered an autograph of sorts. Nodding, he takes takes a muffin from the basket.

“That’s a good idea, thank you,” he says.

“That’s what I'm here for.” Minako pulls out a small folder, holding it out. Reminiscent of the binder she’d given him when they’d first met in Hasetsu, currently open on the table, it’s not hard to imagine what might be inside.

“Information?” Viktor asks.

“Concerning your duties as spouse to the King. While you won't be expected to take on the role entirely yet, you are expected to prepare and gradually start to fill it, working with the Queen Mother until such a time as she steps down. Her Royal Majesty will be an especially valuable resource at this time, which is why I asked her to bring Makkachin directly here after she took him out.”

“There’s a third cup on the tray,” Viktor notes.

“Indeed,” Minako says. “I want you to understand, Vitya, that Her Royal Majesty and I are here to _help_ you. I'll be helping you hire your personal staff, introducing you to the people with whom you'll be working on a regular basis, and refining your mannerisms to suit your new—”

The terrace door opening pulls their attention, and Makkachin, off his leash, bounds over to Viktor. Hiroko follows after a moment, followed shortly by Viktor’s mamulya, towering over her. An attendant follows, more coffee and yet another cup on the tray.

“Ah, Mrs. Nikiforova!” Minako says, standing to shake her hand.

“I thought Vicchan’s mother could join us,” Hiroko says, taking the seat to Viktor’s left. Alexandra sits to Viktor's right, kissing him on his cheek before sitting back and crossing her legs, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

“That is, of course, fine with me, Your Majesty. Mrs. Nikiforova, Vitya and I, and Her Royal Majesty, were to go over some of his expected duties now that the engagement is being made official.”

“It hasn’t?” Alexandra asks.

“Not formally, no. His Majesty and Vitya will be signing an official Declaration of Intent to Wed, and it will be announced in His Majesty’s upcoming speech.”

“There’s no question we’re getting married, Mamulya,” Viktor says, pouring coffee for her. Taking it gratefully, she prepares it while Hiroko addresses Viktor.

“Minako-san and I are here to help you,” she says. “Any questions at all, feel free to ask. I know what it's like to step into this role.”

“Did the late King’s mother also help you?”

“Very much so,” Hiroko replies. “Much like Akitsushiman monarchs take training their successors very seriously, so do their spouses. So far, Minako-san has been training you in being royalty, and both she and you have been doing a stellar job. She cannot entirely prepare you for this, however. That’s where I come in.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Alexandra asks.

“Vicchan will need all the support he can get,” Hiroko responds, “though I would also appreciate another person involved in planning the wedding. I understand your family is Jewish?”

Alexandra nods. “I can’t stay here for too long, I need to get home to my wife,” she says, “but I would be more than happy to be involved in planning as much as I’m able.”

“What about Maman?” Viktor asks.

“Your Maman is much like your brother in that she prefers very little excitement. As far as our wedding went, she’d much rather we have gotten a ketubah and dragged a few friends into the rabbi’s office. I wanted the family and ceremony.”

“She makes wedding gowns all the time, though, she made _yours.”_ Viktor scowls.

“Yes, but that doesn't mean she's any good at event planning, Pupsik. She may make your chuppah though.”

Nodding, Viktor breaks his muffin in half as his mother turns back to Hiroko. “I'd love to help,” she says, “however I can.”

“Wonderful,” Hiroko replies. “As far as Vicchan’s training is concerned, we’ll let you know. For now, he just needs his mother.”

Rubbing Viktor’s arm, Alexandra smiles and nods. She doesn't say much as Hiroko outlines some of his soon-to-be duties, though Viktor can see her glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He squeezes her fingers. There’s a lot that is changing for him, and sooner than he’d anticipated. His mother has an idea about his nerves, has seen his discomfort, and worries about him.

_(Understandably. She must see her wife’s depression in Viktor, must know how much Viktor values the independence he’s willingly giving up, and can probably guess from experience at how it’s already taking its toll.)_

 

~*~

 

Viktor’s reaching for a suit when Yuuri clears his throat. Turning, he sees his fiancé gesturing towards the clothing on the bed.

“I thought those were choices for you,” Viktor says, frowning.

“No,” Yuuri replies, “since we’re… With the announcement of the engagement, and as we’re addressing the— well, _I'm_ addressing them— the Akitsushiman people— it’s… You're their future King-Consort and wearing traditional clothing just…”

“Reinforces that?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri nods. “Yeah. They had this outfit rushed, and they still feel awful about hurting you with the tape measure on your chest during the fitting, but everything’s… They’re working on more clothing for future use. You won't have to always wear it, not like I do. Um, do you know how to put it all on?”

They’ve gotten dressed enough together that Viktor can hazard a fairly accurate guess as to how everything lays and ought to be tied but he also has a hand that isn't working properly, and the specific knots escape him. “I can get it on,” he says, “but tying it will be… difficult.”

“I can help,” Yuuri offers. “Your first time wearing our clothing… I can see how it would be confusing.”

“I'd like that,” Viktor replies. He’s wearing underwear already, so Yuuri moves directly towards the bed.

“Do you want to watch me?” he asks. As if Viktor hadn’t taken what opportunities he could to watch Yuuri dress in the past. Still, this time it’s with the added goal of instruction, so Viktor nods.

Grabbing his undershirt, Yuuri gingerly threads his arms through the sleeves, pulling it over his chest. Though he normally wears them quite fitted, he leaves some room so he doesn’t irritate the still-healing injury on his torso. Interior strings are tied to hold the bottom flap in, and then exterior to hold the front flap closed under the main shirt. Grabbing the ends of his sleeves, Yuuri feeds them through the sleeves of the overshirt, tying the inside strings before closing the front flap. It hangs loosely until he’s pulled his pants on, tucking it in and straightening the alignment before tying the pants closure securely to hold it in place.

Over the fitted bottoms of his pants, he pulls socks with a split toe, designed to be worn with the jika tabi he wears on a regular basis. Final adjustments to his loose sleeves make sure everything lays as it should, and he turns to Viktor with a smile, holding his arms out. “It’s not too hard,” he says. “The everyday stuff is made to be easy to wear, so it’s not too complicated.”

It doesn't seem hard. Yuuri grabs the deep purple undershirt from the bed, moving behind Viktor and easing it up his arms. Coming around to the front, he straightens the flaps. Making sure he doesn't pull tight enough to hurt Viktor's ribs, he ties the shirt closed and grabs the next. The grey overshirt is a bit harder, with having to get the loose sleeves in, but they manage well enough. When Viktor has his pants on Yuuri instructs him to sit on the bed.

“Socks,” he explains, flushing as he kneels. Viktor lets his feet be maneuvered in, feels Yuuri get the fitted bottom of the pants tucked in right, and when he looks up, he's bright red.

“Everything alright, Lyubov?” Viktor asks as Yuuri stands.

“Y-yeah,” he replies. Looking up and down Viktor's body, and then to the side, he blushes even more. “You look better in our traditional clothing than I'd thought you would.”

With the index and middle finger of his right hand, Viktor tips Yuuri’s chin up, eyes asking for what Yuuri gives a moment later: the press of his lips, soft and cherry-flavored against Viktor’s. Though Viktor does what he can to lessen the distance between them, Yuuri still rocks onto the balls of his feet to kiss him, curling his fingers around the back of Viktor’s neck.

Yuuri ends up doing the line of clasps on Viktor’s shoes, explaining that as difficult as it’d be doing them normally, with a broken wrist it would be near-impossible. They feel odd on Viktor’s feet, he rarely wears flip-flops and isn’t used to having something between his toes like this, but it’s comfortable. Standing, he walks over to a mirror and assesses himself, turning to see the way the fabric falls around his body. When he looks back at his fiancé, Yuuri’s blushing more, looking him up and down and when he meets Viktor’s eyes, he smiles.

“You look amazing,” he says.

“Better than you thought I would?” Viktor asks with a grin.

As he straightens Viktor’s collar Yuuri nods.

“How often, Lyubov, have you imagined me in this sort of outfit?” Teasing, Viktor leans as best he can over Yuuri, smirking as his fiancé turns impossibly redder.

“Often enough,” he mutters with a mock-scowl. “Let’s go to the press room.”

 

The dais is set up for a press conference by the King. Normally there’s a simple podium at which a government official stands, addressing the room, but now, they have a desk available, two imposing leather chairs behind, both bearing the crest of Akitsushima’s Royal Family. They’re announced when they enter, and everyone in the room who is easily able to stands, facing Yuuri’s direction. An attendant comes over, Yuuri is led to the chair at the center of the desk, and when he sits down, aligned with the crest on the front of the desk, Viktor is (respectfully) directed to sit at his left. Yuuri begins with a greeting, thanking the people of his kingdom, of Russia, and of the world for the support they’ve expressed so far.

"We are happy to say that outside of myself and Viktor, and the guards directly involved in the attempts on our lives, everyone made it out without significant injury," he says. "Those involved were all Akitsushiman nationals, and in my family's employ for a significant period of time before this trip. They've been detained and are being held at a secure location here in Akitsushima. Russia had nothing to do with this attack, and after speaking with government leaders, I am happy to say there is no animosity between our two countries. Our relationship with Russia remains strong." He takes a sip of water, and camera flashes go wild, the press clamoring for pictures of Yuuri's bandaged hand and arm, exposed as it is by his loose sleeves.

In an unusual display of transparency, Yuuri explains. He tells the world about the last-minute change of plans, about the second guard panicking and shooting at him alone on the bridge before being apprehended later with the gun in her possession. When he gets to the summary of the events in the apartment itself, how he and Viktor met up and how Atsuko was fought off, he takes a moment to mention Yulian.

"The attacker in the apartment was subdued by Viktor's primary bodyguard after she'd attacked both of us, despite his best efforts to prevent injury to both Viktor and myself. We commend and thank him for his service, as he likely saved both of our lives." Though by many peoples’ standards Yulian could be called 'unsuccessful' for having allowed them to be injured in the first place, the fact of the matter is that things could have been far worse had he not been there.

Viktor shudders.

Though Yuuri promises as much transparency as he's able regarding the investigation, he still requests the judicial system be able to work unhindered, that citizens and press alike allow them to work without being hassled. There are nods around the room, though most are disappointed. The press clearly wants to dig into the people involved, but this is almost a directive from the king, and there's no vocal protest on their part.

“Viktor and I, personally, would also like to express our desire for the public to keep a respectful distance while we heal and work together to get through the aftermath of the attack." Yuuri flashes a smile in Viktor's direction, and cameras go wild for a moment before he leans forward to continue. "While the premature announcement of our engagement has caught us off-guard, we wish to reiterate our desire to see this through and to marry. While we regret that circumstances led to the need for secrecy, we still believe that making the commitment in private was the best and safest course of action at the time, and would like to reiterate that it had always been the plan to announce it when we felt it safe."

Here, it's expected that Yuuri will go into closing statements before they sign the Declaration of Intent to Wed, but he merey takes a sip of water and pulls the mic just a bit closer. "I would like to explain why we found such secrecy necessary in the first place, starting from the incidents that happened in my childhood." The press erupt in a cacophony of flashes and the clicking of cameras, tape recorders and cell phones are held closer as people strain to hear him. The Palace is known for their cover-ups, for the tight control over the image presented to the public. Yuuri knows it frustrates the kingdom, knows people have little faith in what the Palace says, and is apparently trying to bridge that gap.

"I have been made aware that for too long, questions regarding myself and my disappearance have gone unanswered, that my family refused to give any more information than I was alive. I understand how frustrating this must have been, and I wish to give what answers I am able now. To start, I want to make it clear that my family themselves didn’t know much more than the public until recently." A murmur spreads through the crowd, for a moment the only sound in the room the clicking of cameras. Folding his hands in front of them, Yuuri takes a deep breath.

This sort of public clarity is a first for any member of the Royal Family, and Yuuri is the reigning monarch. The explanation begins with Yuuri confirming the attempt on his life as a child, explaining his guard's death as a result of poisoning meant for him. "Out of respect for the family, and a desire to maintain stability, the Palace denied initial claims and presented it as a seizure," he says. "After this, I was put under heavy guard, until I fled the country with a lone bodyguard posing as my sister." Nearly imperceptible to the public, Yuuri takes a shaky breath, steadies himself as he prepares to lay bare one of the most painful and terrifying times in his life, and Viktor presses a knee against Yuuri's leg in reassurance.

For a moment, Yuuri seems to settle into himself, grounding himself against Viktor as he looks back across the crowd. And then, in a completely unprecedented move, he talks. He tells the world how he fled, in fear for his life, moving to a strange country with strange customs to live a series of lives he'd never known. He explains that his location and all information was top secret, that he lived as a royal while masquerading as a commoner, constantly preparing for his return. The press gets even more fidgety as he goes into the threats that kept him away, the repeated clues and incidents and uncovered plots against him that caused his security team, again and again, to decide it was better to keep him on the run and hidden instead of bringing him back. He makes it clear he holds no ill will towards his family.

Talking about Hana, Viktor can tell he's emotional. Yuuri describes how she watched over him, how she made each move as easy as she could. He tells the press that they settled in Alpena, smiling when he says he graduated high school with honors, and describes his desire for a degree in Political Science, another way of preparing to rule. Hushed, approving whispers spread through the crowd, the press nodding at each other for a bit before Yuuri speaks again. Now, he tells them about living with Phichit, about the struggle he had at the beginning to learn some basic chores he hadn't had time to learn before then and his spur-of-the-moment decision to get a job at a local coffee shop.

"A few years later," he says, "I met Viktor, who'd stayed in town for a change of pace in his training for the upcoming figure skating season." His smile in Viktor's direction is genuine at its core, but designed for public consumption. Smiling in return, Viktor's not surprised at the amount of pictures the press takes. He nods at the media and Yuuri continues.

"Though I'd been unable to secure clearance to tell Viktor who I was before our arrival, we made it to the Palace together. After much discussion, with both each other and our families in light of what had transpired, we made the decision to continue with our relationship. Viktor reiterated his commitment to see this through even though it was expected to require a fairly large shift in lifestyle. He rose to the occasion magnificently, around finishing the last competitive figure skating season at the top of the podium, and we made the decision in secret to be wed." He takes another drink of water.

"I would like to emphasize," he says, "that a series of smaller incidents and heavily-implied threats led us to believe that secrecy was the best course of action. We still stand by that belief. At this moment, we are unsure if these incidents are related to the attempted assassination in Russia, and are investigating as thoroughly as possible right now." He straightens in his chair, continuing on to say that they are cooperating with the investigation as best as they can, and that he's hoping for a just outcome on behalf of all of those involved.

Straightening further, he goes into his closing remarks, slightly changed from the original after an argument with the Palace's P.R. department. Yuuri wants his stance clear, his commitment to his people made clear.

"For too long," he says, "the citizenry of Akitsushima has been ready for social change those in government were unprepared for. It is my goal to ease this source of tension, to ensure all Akitsushiman citizens, no matter their background, feel the state is working in their best interests. It is my goal to unite the nation in social progress, to ensure betterment in all areas, and to bring us into a new and more prosperous age." Looking across the room, he folds his hands in front of him, determination in the set of his shoulders, a hidden ferocity in his eyes. "As King of Akitsushima, I would like to reiterate my commitment to serving my kingdom and my people to the best of my ability, until such a time as I am unable to do so."

With Yuuri’s now-official confirmation of their engagement comes the public signing of the formal declaration. It’s not a legally binding document, but it carries no less weight in the eyes of the Akitsushiman people. It’s read out, first, in both Japanese and English, and once the gilded paper, meticulously calligraphed by hand, is set in front of them, Viktor’s heart freezes in his chest. He’s sure he wants this, sure he wants to marry Yuuri, and the hesitation can’t be that, so what… Looking up, he sees the crowd assembled, over a hundred people here to watch Yuuri address the nation— and to watch them get formally engaged.

Profound relief floods through him that their initial engagement was private, secret, that while they may be sharing this moment with the world, the moment of commitment was only ever between them. So much of his life has been shared with the public, and while Yuuri used to be part of what Viktor kept for himself, those days are long gone. He knows Yuuri feels the same way, watches as he smiles, takes a deep breath, and picks up the ceremonial brush pen.

As Viktor watches, he signs his name on the lines provided, first in a string of kanji and below in the Latin alphabet. He moves it over, placing it in front of Viktor, and smiles. With a grin just too private to be worn in public, Viktor smiles back at him, pulling the long sleeves of his shirt back. He knows the cast on his left hand attracts a lot of attention, that many of the camera flashes are aimed directly at it, but he does his best to hold the paper still as he finds the lines for his name.

They’re to the right of Yuuri’s, on the other side of his family crest, and Viktor signs first in graceful Cyrillic and then in the English. When that’s done, Yuuri smiles at him, love in his eyes even as the shadows of his dark circles show through his makeup, before he takes the paper and stamps it with his official seal.

Viktor is officially engaged, and he stands proud with his fiancé, smiling despite the dull ache in his chest, as the press get their photos.

 

~*~

 

Getting into and out of the car they’re using to take his mother to the airport would be excruciatingly painful, Viktor knows, which is why he contents himself with saying goodbye in the Palace’s driveway. His mother brushes his hair behind his ears, smiles fondly and kisses his forehead before she looks him in the eyes.

“I'm incredibly proud of you, Vityen’ka,” she says in quiet Russian, leaning down just slightly to rest her forehead on his. “I can see how hard you're working to make this life your own. You're doing so well, my darling boy.”

Viktor nods, just slightly, and his mother reaches up to collect his tears with her thumb. “You have our support, you know that, right?”

“I do, Mamulya.”

“Stay safe, listen to your instincts.”

“I will, Mamulya.” She kisses his forehead. “Um, tell Maman and Katya and Lyosha that I love them? I'm excited for you all to visit.”

“I will. We’ll be out for the wedding, for sure.”

It brings a smile to Viktor’s face. The wedding is a while off, as events of this magnitude typically take a year or so to plan, and his crown has to be made for the coronation. The one Hiroko wore won’t fit him by a long shot, and they don't want to make such big alterations to something that is centuries old.

He'll be coronated, much like Yuuri was, and Yuuri himself will place the crown on his head. A shiver goes down his spine; a mixture of nerves and excitement giving him a mild headrush.

His mother kisses his forehead again, and when she speaks her voice is thick. “Remember, Vityen’ka, that no matter how it feels, we love you dearly. Yuuri loves you dearly. If you need help you can reach out, we’ll be here. I promise.”

Viktor nods again. “I will, Mamulya.” Something in his mind says he’s lying, that he’s never really bothered before so why would he now? Swallowing, he takes as deep a breath as his aching ribs allow, puts his hands on his mother’s slim waist in facsimile of a hug. Gently, she puts her hands on his back, embracing him without causing additional pain, and he sighs. “I'll do my best. I love you.”

Smiling, his mother kisses him again. “I'll let you know when I get home, and I'll tell everyone you love them.”

“I'll try to call, sometime,” he says as she backs away. She turns to pull Yuuri into a hug.

“Vitka loves you,” she says in English. “You're very good for each other. You're both very strong, you can get through this.”

Nodding, Yuuri lets her hug him, and she kisses his hair through his crown.

“Will you send my regards to your family?” he asks. “I'd like to invite you all out, hopefully for a visit well before the wedding if schedules permit. We'd certainly love to have you in the weeks leading up to the wedding and coronation regardless.”

“That sounds amazing.” Smiling, Alexandra steps back, looking down at Yuuri as she cups his cheek with her hand. “We’d love to come visit. Your mother and I will be talking back and forth about the wedding and such, I’ll send her the best times to arrange something once I talk to my wife and Lyosha.”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies.

Alexandra says her goodbyes to Hiroko, who she hugs. They’ve apparently grown even closer in their time here, and it’s no small blessing that Viktor’s mothers get along with his future mother-in-law. Mari will ride with her to the airport, seeing her off to the private jet in person, for which Viktor is grateful. If he can’t do it, he’s glad his future sister-in-law will.

 

~*~

 

“You're going to see Nee-chan?” Yuuri asks as Minako walks in. Over dinner, Mari and Hiroko had discussed Minako’s upcoming visit to the imprisoned guard. Caught unaware, Yuuri’d pressed for more information, and when they’d been unable to satisfy his curiosity, he’d finished what little of his food he could manage, gone to his working office, and requested Minako’s presence immediately.

“Yes, Sire,” she responds. “Is that why you called me here?”

“It is. I'd like you to report back here when you're done,” he says and it’s a blatant order. Minako’s not used to this from him, he typically does with her what he does with Viktor; wording everything as a polite request rather than… this. Yuuri’d mentioned falling back on his position, on his title, when he was stressed and this only serves to prove it.

Saying nothing, Minako merely bows. “I’ll report immediately, Sire,” she says. “I supposed you’d like to know the exact _times_ of the appointment in order to clear your schedule?”

Yuuri nods once. “I would, yes.” Sitting back in his chair, he looks at her expectantly. “Do you have the information available?”

Barely perceptible, Minako’s sigh is still noticed, and Viktor can see Yuuri holding back a deeper glare. He knows he’s being like this, and is ever aware of his body language and the message it’s sending. Which is telling, because he can usually keep from being an ass fairly easily. He inputs a meeting with Minako starting from when she’s supposed to be leaving the prison, and extending into the night, as if making sure she’ll have ample opportunity to give the details Yuuri clearly wants. Minako seems to understand his urgency, as irritating as he’s being. Anyone other than Hana, Viktor feels, would have her giving Yuuri a respectful if strongly-worded warning about tone and pulling rank.

As it is, saying anything is likely to upset him, so Minako merely writes out the date and time on Yuuri’s embossed stationery, passing it back to him over the desk.

Dryly, she asks, “should this visit go well, I’d like to set up more frequent visits with her. Am I correct in thinking it would _please_ Your Majesty if I were to give you those dates and times as well?”

Minako’s being as acerbic as she can without giving Yuuri grounds to get angry at her, and his eyes narrow in recognition of a familiar game.

“Yes,” he says, “I’d like those, too. I’d also like to be notified of any change in, or additions to, the schedule, and after each visit I’d like an in-person visit and a summary of how she’s doing.”

With narrowed eyes and lips as thin as paper, Minako nods. “Of course, Your Royal _Majesty._ Do you require anything else before I take my leave, Sire?” It seems she’s emphasizing Yuuri’s title in the hopes that he’ll find it strange enough to rethink how he’s approaching this. He doesn’t.

“No, that’ll be all,” Yuuri says, waving her off.

“Then good evening, Sire, and I will report back after I’ve seen Hana-san.” After a bow, she exits the room.

Yuuri takes a deep breath, before looking at Viktor and smiling. “Let’s go to our— what’s wrong, Vitya?” he asks, face falling when he notices Viktor’s scowl.

“There are far nicer ways to say you’d appreciate Minako keeping you updated about her visits with Hana.”

“It’s important to me,” Yuuri says. “Minako-sensei knows that.”

“Which is why she’d have been more than happy to had you simply _asked._ You’re so scared of losing people, but how do you expect to keep everyone close by pushing them away? There was no one here to impress, I’ve seen you sweating and bent over a table in front of her after practice so this little display does nothing for me. Makkachin doesn’t _care.”_ The dog perks his head up from the corner when Viktor speaks, and for once he’s too annoyed to coo. “If you can come up with one reason for pulling rank besides ‘unnecessarily proving a point,’ I’d advise you to do so and call her back to explain why you took it out on her.”

Slamming his fists on the table, Yuuri stands. “I— You— You can’t just—”

“Call out your bullshit?” Viktor finishes. “I can and I will. You’re being an _ass,_ Yuuri.”

“I’ll take your words into consideration, _Viktor,”_ he bites, “and will have a discussion with Minako-sensei at some point in the future.” The use of Viktor’s full name in such a private setting stings a bit, even as Yuuri goes to leave. His computer already shut down, paperwork stacked to the side, Yuuri picks up the piece of paper Minako had left, folding it and tucking it into his pocket. Walking over the door, he pulls it open and gestures Viktor through. Viktor shoots a glare and walks through, as anyone who might be on the other side would expect. There’s no one, and after Yuuri locks his office they walk through the halls in silence.

If Viktor wasn't so angry he’d be inclined to admit that Yuuri looks stunning if incredibly intimidating as he walks. He rules the kingdom and it's glaringly obvious in every facet of his demeanor. Viktor makes sure he doesn't scoff, but he knows Yuuri, too, can feel their words between them, taught and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. They round the corner, and Viktor sees a bastion of calm ahead.

“I think I'll dip into the library,” Viktor says cheerfully as he stops in front of the hallway leading to the library doors.

Stopping in his tracks, Yuuri turns to look at him. “It's late, I thought we were going to bed.”

“If it pleases you, Your Majesty,” Viktor says in a tone of voice that says he doesn't _actually_ care how Yuuri feels about what he's about to say, “I'd like to get some reading in before I head to our rooms.”

Yuuri looks at the library down the hall, and then back at Viktor. “Seriously?”

Crossing his arms, he bites back the sharp pain in his ribs and smiles at his fiancé. “Yes. I'm not sure how long I'll be, but please don't feel obligated to wait up.”

Yuuri's face is blank stone, maddeningly unreadable as he adjusts his sleeves. “Of course,” he replies. “Enjoy your book. _Oyasumi.”_ Turning, he stalks off down the hall, a pair of attendants jumping to the side and bowing deeply as he passes. Makka starts trotting after him, and when he calls his dog back, Viktor doesn’t miss the way Yuuri pauses for a brief instant, clenching his fists at his sides before continuing on his way. When he’s turned the corner, Viktor waves the attendants over.

They practically fall over themselves to bow to him, too, when they approach.

“How can we serve you, Mr. Nikiforov?” One asks, keeping her head lowered.

“I'll be in the library for a while,” he says. “If you could have coffee brought I'd appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she responds. “Would you like food to accompany your coffee, sir?”

“Please,” he responds. “Something easy to eat, that doesn't crumble or get sticky.”

“Of course, sir.”

The other chimes in, “we can also ask that someone come by and refill it every once in a while.”

“That would be great, thank you,” he replies. They bow again and hurry off to the kitchens.

The library is warmly lit, even this late at night, and he makes his way to the fiction area, running his fingers along the spines of the books until he finds one in Russian he's been wanting to read. He pulls it off the shelf, rifling through the pages as he makes his way to his favorite armchair. With some trouble, he gets his suit jacket off, his tie quickly following, and after rolling up his sleeves, he lowers himself into the chair.

When his feet are up on an ottoman, Makkachin takes the liberty of draping himself across Viktor’s lap as best he can. The light on the side table is perfect, and Viktor wastes no time in getting to reading.

Coffee is brought, and then refilled, and he absently munches on the miniature cream puffs he’d been brought to go with as he devours the book, letting himself get lost in the plot and intrigue. It's hard to tell how long it’s been when he pauses. It's not light out yet, and though the coffee is lukewarm, he can't remember how many times it’s been switched out.

Sighing, he leans his head back, looking at the towering bookshelves around him. His eyes trace around the room, coming to rest on the portrait of the Royal Family on the wall. Yuuri sits next to his father, distant and proud, heir to a legacy centuries old and showing it at such a young age. The pressure he’d been under as a child was huge, and now it’s grown a hundredfold.

It's still no excuse for being an ass, though. Viktor sighs. Something is getting to Yuuri, that much is clear, and despite his lashing out Viktor, it’s hard not to be concerned, too. It’s not like everything’s easy for Viktor right now and Yuuri knows it. Normally, he does everything he can to make Viktor feel at ease. Viktor’s still reeling from the attack even though he’s gotten used to the pain, and though it’s dulled a bit there’s too much of it to erase it completely, and right now it’s all he knows. Walking around hurts, sitting, laying down, and Yuuri and his attitude aren’t making Viktor’s frustrations lessen. Yuuri’s hurting, yes, but so is Viktor, and unlike Yuuri, Viktor doesn’t have the same solid support system. He especially doesn’t have one in Hasetsu independent of his fiancé and complaining to Yuuri’s family about Yuuri seems a bit too much. There's nothing to say they won't turn on him in a show of familial loyalty to their sovereign.

There’s nothing Viktor wants to do more than go out, exercise his stress away and come back feeling better but he can’t. His newly-sedentary lifestyle is starting to grate on him and he’s missing his mother more and more every day and everything has changed again, so drastically, and sometimes it feels like it’s all moving far too fast. Screwing his eyes shut, he leans his head back, doing his best to keep himself breathing regularly as he fights back tears. Everything hurts for a moment and he forces his eyes open and looks up at the ceiling, beautiful wood inlaid with precious metals making intricate designs swirling across the perimeter.

The exquisite craftsmanship would be more easily appreciated if everything didn't _hurt so much._ Shifting his legs causes Makka to whine, lifting his head and giving Viktor a curious look. Viktor whispers an apology, sighing as he leans back and looks back at the portrait.

Would things be any easier if he were royal? Probably, though that would have come with its own set of issues. Yuuri, even at seven, looks so serious, has a weight on his shoulders he carried through the rest of his life that was only obvious after Viktor could see it for what it was. There’s more now, though, his years in hiding having changed him— scarred him, in ways— irreparably. Pulling out his phone, Viktor googles his fiancé’s coronation portrait and looks between the young Crown Prince and the King he would become.

Over a decade of constant stress separate the two, and he can see it in Yuuri’s eyes. He can see it in the way Yuuri holds himself, the way there’s a fearlessness about him after his extended trial by fire. He can see it in how tired the older Yuuri looks, countless sleepless nights and years spent on his toes leaving him with a sort of permanent exhaustion. Another link on the page advertises exclusive pictures of Viktor with Yuuri, and he clicks it.

Airport photos, from when they left for Russia. Next to a close-up of Viktor is a picture of him on the ice sometime this last season, and another of him after winning gold in Bulgaria at sixteen. That young, his smile had still been genuine and the sparkle in his eye unmanufactured as he’d rocketed his way to the top of the podium. It hadn’t lasted long.

They’d both become hardened in the last few years, and now two people used to fighting for their very existence are just trying to make it through a shitty situation together. Touching his necklace, warm on his chest, Viktor remembers their promises, their commitment.

He remembers how much he loves his fiancé, and how alone Yuuri must feel, and he makes noises at Makka in an attempt to get him up. It works, after Makkachin grumbles a bit, and he takes his time getting off Viktor’s lap, walking a meter or so away and plopping his butt down. At this point, he knows Viktor’s going to take a while to stand, but his ears perk up as someone enters.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the attendant says, bowing while holding a carafe of coffee, “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“You're fine,” Viktor replies. “I was just getting up to go to bed.”

“Oh.” Glancing at the presumably full carafe, he looks back at Viktor. “Do you not want this?”

“I'm afraid not, thank you though.” Bowing the attendant turns to leave and Viktor makes a split-second decision.

“Can you help me up?”

The attendant turns. “I'm sorry, sir, I- what?”

“I need help standing,” Viktor explains. “Please.”

He looks around, before setting the carafe on a table nearby and walking over. “Should I- not around your chest, right?”

“Oh, god, no,” Viktor mutters.

The attendant pales. “I beg your pardon, sir, I—”

“You're fine,” Viktor says. “I let my tone get away from me.” He holds out his hands and the attendant takes them, gripping them firmly. The process of standing is excruciating but thankfully brief, and as he gasps the attendant looks nervous.

Viktor looks at him, and he looks down.

“Do you really expect me to get upset at you for my injury?”

“Tension is high at the Palace right now, sir,” the attendant responds, “and it's best to play things safe.”

“Is the Royal Family that strict during times of trouble?”

Mouth gaping, the attendant looks around nervously. Viktor is, effectively, part of the Royal Family now, and to say the wrong thing here could mean his job, as far as the attendant is concerned.

“I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable, I'm still not entirely used to all of this. You can answer honestly, with no fear of retaliation, or you can refuse. With no retaliation.” Having someone so scared of Viktor’s potential reactions is unnerving, and Viktor does his best to relax his posture as much as he’s able (which is, to say, not much).

Relaxing, the attendant nods. “The Royal Family is never awful,” he says, “but tension is tension and His Majesty is still relatively new to all of us. We’ve never seen him in time of such stress , and don’t know how he’ll react.”

Viktor nods. “Thank you for your help,” he says as the attendant picks up his carafe.

“My pleasure, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“What’s your name?”

Blinking, the attendant stands still for a moment before bowing. “Jiro, sir,” he answers.

“Thank you, Jiro. Have a good night.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bowing once more, Jiro leaves the room.

Viktor follows suit after picking up his jacket and tie, making his way to the bedroom with Makkachin by his side.

 

The bathroom door whispers closed behind him once he’s managed to get ready to sleep, and he’s glad Yuuri’d been nice enough to leave his bedside lamp on, even upset as he had been. Viktor crawls carefully into his side of the bed. His ribs aren't healed enough for him to lay flat comfortably, but he is mostly horizontal by now. He turns off his lamp, and the blankets stir.

Moonlight streaming into the windows illuminates Yuuri as he props himself up on his uninjured hand. “Vitya?”

“I'm here,” Viktor says. He feels Yuuri's hand stretching towards him, fingers tentatively brushing Viktor's fingertips. Turning his head, Viktor looks into Yuuri’s eyes, puffy enough to be visible in the low lighting.

“You're still here.” A shuddering sigh of relief comes from Yuuri as he curls towards Viktor, bringing his head to rest on Viktor’s upper arm.

“I told you, I wouldn't just leave at the first sign of trouble.”

“This is at least the tenth,” Yuuri mutters into Viktor’s bicep. As much as Viktor wants to admonish him, at the same time Viktor leaving was a very real fear for him for so long… It still is, on the bad days.

“The counter resets every time I stay after anything bad happens,” Viktor says. “Like last month, when I tripped on that curb up the driveway. It was the first bad thing to happen, and then I stayed so the counter reset to zero bad things having happened.”

With a wet laugh, Yuuri kisses Viktor’s shoulder. “I love you,” he says. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Viktor whispers.

“I've been an asshole,” Yuuri says into Viktor’s arm.

“You have.”

“I'm sorry I just… There’s so much, Vitya.” Exhausted as he is, he’s starting to cry again and Viktor squeezes his hand around the cast as best he can.

“We can talk tomorrow? When you're not so tired?”

Nodding, Yuuri wipes his eyes on the sheets. “I wish I could cuddle you,” he says.

“I have a lap you can borrow, Lyubov.”

Nodding again, Yuuri adjusts his sheets, turns his body so he’s facing the headboard, and rests his head on Viktor’s thigh. Viktor threads his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and settles into his mattress with a soft sigh, and though they haven’t made up entirely, coming back has eased his mind.

 

~*~

 

They talk over breakfast. The upshot is really just… Yuuri is anxious. More anxious than he’d expect, more than he feels he can handle sometimes. His therapist has suggested a daily medication, something to keep his nerves relatively manageable, and he says he’ll be taking her up on that.

Remorse is plain in his voice and Viktor knows he knows he’s lashing out, but he’s being pushed and pulled in all directions and seizing control where he can is the only way he knows to handle stress of this magnitude.

“Just try, Lyubov. Try to be more aware,” Viktor urges. “We all love you. We don't love… that.”

Looking down, Yuuri nods. “I'll try.”

There’s a firm knock on the door. Frowning, Yuuri moves to stand before it repeats itself.

“Come in!” he calls.

The door opens, and a member of the guard steps in. “Your Royal Majesty,” he says, bowing, “I’m here on behalf of His Royal Highness the Grand Duke. He begs you to forgive his presumption but requests your immediate presence at the Cabinet room. His Royal Highness expressed extreme urgency in his request.”

“I’ll be there immediately,” Yuuri says. “Inform the Duke.”

Bowing, the guard hurries out, closing the door behind him. Looking down, Yuuri sighs as he sees the jeans and t-shirt he’s wearing, rushing into the other room. When he comes back, he’s wearing a crown and carrying sneakers.

“Should I go, Lyubov?” Viktor asks.

“If you want,” Yuuri says, setting his crown aside as he does up his converse, “I can tell you if it’s something you should stay for. Do you need me to put your shoes on?”

“I have loafers,” Viktor replies, standing quickly (painfully, and he grabs the side of his chest as he hurries) and walks into their bedroom. His shoes are readily available, the loafers he was thinking of on the shelf where they ought to be, and he grabs them quickly before walking out. It’s easy enough to drop them on the floor and steady himself on Yuuri’s shoulder as he puts them on. Makka lifts his head, standing to plod over since his humans are getting ready to leave. Smiling, Yuuri takes a moment to scratch Makkachin behind the ears and under his chin and by his butt and he stands as there’s another knock.

Instead of calling out, he simply opens the door to a different guard standing there, fist still raised and clearly in shock. “Sire,” he says, “the Grand Duke has asked Mr. Nikiforov accompany you, and that you both come post-haste.”

“We’re about to head over,” Yuuri replies, clearly a little irritated at being rushed like this. “I understand the urgency, and Vitya and I will waste no time in leaving.”

“Of course, Sire,” the guard says with a bow, rushing down the hallway.

“Well that answers _that,”_ Viktor says.

“It certainly does.”

 

When they arrive, Isamu’s in the conference room with the investigators he’s working with. An attendant is hurrying around, taking coffee orders, and Yuuri takes his place at the head of the table. Viktor sits to his left, as is customary, Mari, still wiping sleep out her eyes, to Yuuri’s right. People are looking at Yuuri out of the corners of their eyes, taking in the jeans and t-shirt he’s wearing, and then the crown perched on his head. When everyone’s seated, Isamu gestures at the head investigator to start.

The investigator bows in Yuuri’s direction before speaking. “Just an hour ago, someone broke into the evidence locker and tried to destroy anything and everything related to Kataoka Atsuko-san and Kataoka Hana-san, as well as Miura Tomiko, the last guard involved in the incident.” His eyes run up and down Yuuri again, clearly resting for a moment on his t-shirt. Snapping them back up, he swallows and continues with what he was saying. “We feel this is an attempt to impede the investigation. No officers were injured in the attack, and those responsible for the breach… those responsible have been talked to and are being evaluated.”

“Did they get anything?” Yuuri asks.

“No, Sire,” the investigator replies. “The evidence pertaining to his particular investigation is more than secure, and not held in the usual places to ensure its safety.”

“What is it they were after?”

“It’s difficult to know, Sire. We have confiscated all property pertaining to… those in custody, so it could be any of their possessions, or even something the intruders only thought they’d had with them.”

Yuuri looks at his uncle. “Are there any suggested courses of action, Oji-san?”

Isamu leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Nothing at the moment, Yuuri-sama. For now we are working to ensure the integrity of the evidence and doing our best to examine it thoroughly for clues. They’ll be cataloguing _everything.”_

Leaning back, Yuuri crosses his legs and clasps his fingers in front of him. An attendant enters, putting each person’s drink in front of them, starting with Yuuri and the Royal Family. Viktor’s smells amazing, and he takes a sip as everyone else is served.

For everyone's benefit, the head investigator runs through what they know so far again, which still isn't much. Many of the staff members the cryptographer believes were involved in the original plot have moved out if the country. “We’re working on locating them and perhaps offering them a deal in exchange for information,” the head investigator says.

One of the Cabinet Members scoffs. “Extradite them. bring them here and force them to talk.”

Yuuri leans forward on his elbows. “You're proposing we torture them?”

“Not necessarily, sire. Some of them have loved ones we could take custo—”

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri says, waving him off. “I refuse blackmail, kidnapping, and torture.”

“Sire, we would, of course, ensure any—”

“I refuse to entertain the idea of kidnapping or hurting people to get information. That is a _war crime._ We will not commit crimes in trying to solve this one.”

“The public would understand, Your Majesty. Given what you've sacrificed for them.”

Bristling, Yuuri straightens in his seat, drawing himself up as he glares. “I don't give a fuck if they would _understand,_ we will _not_ resort to such methods.”

Almost simultaneously, members of the cabinet glance at him, and then his clothing, and then the decidedly more formal clothing of his uncle and sister.

“Is there an issue with my wardrobe,” Yuuri asks, “or the way I'm speaking? Because I made sure I remembered the important bit.” He points at his crown. “I thought I would ensure a timely arrival for this _urgent_ meeting rather than causing a delay out of vanity. If it’s how I’m speaking that’s the problem, I urge you all to consider what exactly you’re asking of me, and then ask yourselves if you’re truly surprised that I’m angry.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Majesty,” one man says.

“It has been suggested that we separate people from their loved ones, holding innocents in custody, in order to get suspects for a crime long past to talk. I spent fifteen years separated from my family because people had their own political ends they wanted to achieve. I would not inflict that on others and I will not reconsider my stance on this matter.”

“What do you suggest then, Sire?” the head investigator asks. “Would you offer clemency?”

“To an extent,” Yuuri says. “I wouldn’t exonerate them, but I would see to it that their cooperation was of some benefit.”

“In what way, then?”

Yuuri looks at them. “I have a legal council for a reason, I will review it with them. As it is, we have two separate incidents we’re looking into and I think it’s prudent we get to the bottom of both, but primarily the recent attack. Kataoka Atsuko and Miura Tomiko weren’t working alone, we know this, and we need to keep looking into things.”

“And Kataoka Hana-san.” One of the cabinet members leans back in his chair, leveling Yuuri with a pensive look.

Carefully, Yuuri considers his words before speaking. “I would like further evidence of Hana-san’s involvement before lumping her in as a traitor. I understand we have alleged screenshots, however screenshots are easy to fabricate.”

“Sire, it’s our understanding you two were clos—”

“Are. We _are_ close,” Yuuri corrects. “Go on.”

“I understand you're close, however I must confess I'm concerned about bias, Your Majesty.”

“I have no intention of letting my relationship with Hana-san to cloud my judgement. However, I myself have extensive experience faking screenshots for fun. I would like to see more proof than a couple of screenshots mysteriously taken from a corrupted phone. If I am shown irrefutable evidence about Kataoka Hana-san being guilty, I will, of course, allow the legal system to assign what punishment they deem necessary. Until that point, however, I am maintaining that I believe in her innocence, especially considering she had a decade and a half wherein she could have killed me with no one being any wiser.”

“Sire, forgive my impertinence, but Kataoka Hana— was _she_ the guard who… When you were gone, was she…”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, leaning back in his chair again. “She was. Kataoka-san raised me for fifteen years, and did everything in her power to prevent me coming from harm. I have faith in her and her character, and again, require better evidence than the screenshots.”

If they come up with better evidence, though, Yuuri can’t go back on his word to allow them to prosecute justly. Though this seems like an unnecessary gamble, it’s giving those in the room some measure of faith in Yuuri they hadn’t had reason to have before.

Viktor just hopes, through the afternoon and into the night, that Yuuri’s promise doesn’t come back to haunt him.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri's not there when Viktor wakes up, but a note on the bathroom door says he went for a run. Makkachin with him, apparently, if his absence is any indication. Huffing, Viktor goes in to brush his teeth, manages to pull clothing on and get the button of his jeans done without having to call an attendant in to do it. A glance at his phone tells him it’s about time for breakfast, so he heads to the dining room they’ve been using.

Mari and Hiroko are there, and both look up when he enters.

“Where’s my brother?” Mari asks.

Viktor shrugs. “Somewhere on the grounds with my dog, I imagine,” he replies. “He left a note saying he'd gone for a run.”

Pursing her lips, Mari sips her tea as Viktor’s customary coffee is set in front of him. “He moves when he’s anxious,” Mari says, repeating Viktor’s words to her from so long ago.

“That he does,” Viktor replies, putting cream and sugar in his cup before mixing it quickly.

“Any idea if he’ll be joining us?” Hiroko asks.

“Nope,” he replies.

“Well,” she says, “we’ll just start eating. Mari-chan has work to get to, and I imagine you're quite hungry.”

Viktor nods, because he’s absolutely famished, and honestly doesn't feel like structuring even his meal times around his fiancé’s exercise whims. With a gesture, Hiroko informs the staff they’re ready for their food. It's brought promptly, laid in front of them in an impressive spread. It's a very Russian breakfast, Viktor notes. He looks at Hiroko and she smiles. It's a taste of home, Elena Andreyevna pulling out all the stops.

He starts telling stories. Having his mother around for so long had brought fond memories rushing back, and it's those he talks about now.

“They stayed with me before my first Olympics,” he says, halfway through the meal. “My mamulya taught me some new hairstyles I could do.”

“And that’s Alexandra, correct?” Hiroko asks. “What is it you call Hilaire, again?”

“Hilaire’s my maman. French-Canadian.”

“Yes, of course,” she replies.

“What are the Olympics like?” Mari asks. “I've never been.”

“Thrilling,” Viktor replies. “Indescribable. My first time, I was skating with some of my heroes, and to be competing in the biggest sports tournament in the world, with the best athletes each country had to offer… I was amazed to be there in the first place, and then I took gold. It felt like I was on top of the world. It cemented my position as Russia's National Hero. I came home to banners and a parade, of all things.”

“It _sounds_ amazing,” Mari says. “Hasetsu’s in the bidding to host not the next Winter Olympics, but the one after.”

“Are we?” Viktor asks. There’s a moment of hesitation as everyone notices he included himself, but Mari nods.

“Yes,” she says, “we are. You wouldn't be competing still, correct?”

“No,” Viktor says, “this upcoming season was going to be my last. My knees are already feeling it.”

“Are you… Next season…” Mari trails off, unsure how to continue.

“I’m planning to try,” Viktor says. “It depends on how well I heal and how training goes. I won't be able to make the Grand Prix series, though. My current goal is Russian Nationals in December.”

“Does my son know?” Hiroko asks.

“I told him I wanted to come back,” Viktor says, “but that was the afternoon before the attack. We haven’t discussed it since, but he's said he’d support me and I can't see why that would change.”

Mari nods. “We'll support you, too,” she says. “You know that, right?”

Viktor nods. “Of course.”

“In everything,” Hiroko adds. “Vicchan, you're our family, now.”

Stunned, he manages a look of cautious surprise. Taking his good hand, Hiroko offers a reassuring squeeze and a smile, rubbing with her thumb much in the way Yuuri does. Viktor returns the gesture, somehow closer to tears than he wants to be. He blames the pain meds, though he’s taking much lower doses now.

The door opens.

“His Royal Majesty the King and Makkachin,” a footman says as everyone stands. Yuuri enters dressed nicely and clearly freshly-showered, Makkachin trotting happily at his side. He takes a look at their plates, but before his expression can change Viktor notices Hiroko’s. Though happy, friendly, certainly glad to see her son, something about it is telling Yuuri that if he has the gall to say anything about them starting without him they'd certainly be having words.

Yuuri swallows, smiles, and has a seat at the head of the table. An attendant puts a hot plate of food and fresh coffee in front of him immediately, the kitchens likely having been warned of his imminent arrival. He thanks them, pulling his chair up before smiling at everyone.

“I regret my tardiness,” he says in apology. It’s stiff, he’s relatively annoyed that they didn't wait another half hour for him, but Viktor takes another bite with a pointed glance in Yuuri’s direction.

“I'm glad to see you, Velichestvo, “ Viktor replies after he finishes chewing. “How was your run?”

“Tiring,” Yuuri murmurs as he stirs sugar into his coffee. “What were you all talking about?”

“I'm thinking of going back to competition if I'm able,” Viktor responds, gesturing for more coffee.

“Grand Prix is too soon for you to heal, though.”

“Nationals.”

“Ahh,” Yuuri replies. “Well, I'm here to support you, despite what your fans are saying.”

“What _are_ they saying?” Viktor asks, frowning. He’s been avoiding social media beyond posting random pictures of his dog around his frequent lessons with Minako and almost-as-frequent medical and physical therapy appointments, the meetings with Isamu and the investigation committee, and a healthy dose of avoiding questions when he doesn't want to deal with them.

“That this was all, somehow, to get you off the ice so you don't upstage me somehow.”

“Some of them think you intentionally got me injured?”

Yuuri nods, taking another bite.

Viktor frowns, disgusted with the behavior. “You were _also_ injured,” he says.

“Right?” Sighing, Yuuri leans back a bit in his chair. “They’re adamant I'll feel inferior if you get picked up for the Olympics while engaged to me.”

“Ahh, and of course retiring now erases the two Olympic golds I already have.”

“And your Grand Prix golds, and your Worlds golds, and your continuing streak at Nationals,” Yuuri continues.

“And every other medal I've ever won,” Viktor finishes.He sighs. “I'll tweet or something explaining that you're supportive,” he says. “Maybe make a video.”

“You'll have to talk to the Palace, first,” Hiroko says. “Anything that can be considered an official statement like that needs to be cleared with P.R.”

Nodding, Viktor gratefully accepts the fresh coffee he’s given. “I'll check with Minako at some point, see what she says. Is it bothering you?” he asks Yuuri.

Yuuri just shrugs. It's definitely going to get at him, if it isn't already. He may also be anxious about that night. Minako will be seeing Hana in prison, and Yuuri is eager to see how it goes.

 

Before the scheduled meeting time, they take a walk. Makkachin needs to be walked anyway, and Yuuri is too antsy to sit around at his desk. According to his physical therapist, Viktor should be breathing deeply and moving as much as he’s able, so a walk is perfect.

It’s late afternoon and hot outside. Yuuri and Viktor both end up in jeans and short-sleeved button-ups for their walk, Makkachin in a complementary bandana he wears with pride. Though they don't expect to run into members of the public, they still need to look their best. Yuuri walks with his hands shoved in his pockets. With his arms on display, Viktor can see the pink of the new scars, and when he squints, the silver of the old goose bite. One of the new scars goes straight through the old, and when Viktor looks back up, he knows Yuuri’s caught him staring.

“I do the same,” he says, glancing at the cast. Viktor sighs.

“We’re a pair of messes.”

Chuckling, Yuuri nods, moving to hold Viktor’s good hand as they walk. His face falters easily, even when he smiles, and Viktor knows he’s still worried. It's hard to tell what he needs, if it’s a distraction or to talk it through, so Viktor lets them continue in silence.

Occasionally, Yuuri stops, looking at garden features and seeming lost in memories long-forgotten. Instead of a smile, he frowns, but merely squeezes Viktor’s hand before moving along. If he wanted to talk, he would, and Viktor focuses instead on being silent support.

By the time they head back in, when the sun is setting low over the ocean, Yuuri seems to be calmer, if still fairly tense. There's only so much that can be done, Viktor knows, so he coos to his dog, asking Yuuri if he’s proud of Makkachin for being so good.

Smiling, Yuuri nods, agrees, and gives the dog an appreciative scratch behind the ears.

 

“How is she?” Yuuri asks Minako the instant she enters his sitting room. “You talked to her?” whatever calm he’d gained from their walk has been replaced with fear-infused worry, etched into his face like it’s made its home there.

“Yes, Sire,” Minako answers. “She’s doing well. Her… accommoda—”

“Cell,” Yuuri interrupts. “She’s in a _cell,_ you can say it. I don't need to be spoken to like I can't handle the truth, it's been weeks.”

Sighing, Minako bows her head. “My apologies, Sire. Her cell is relatively comfortable, the meals more than adequate. She’s got books to read, puzzles to do, and time outdoors every day.”

“She… Was she…”

“If she was involved I'll eat my shoe, Your Majesty.” Leaning back in her chair, Minako nods at the waitstaff bringing in tea. “Her being held is merely a precautionary measure.”

“For _what?!”_

Sighing, Minako glances at Viktor. Viktor does his best to shrug. Hana’s imprisonment is more and more often a touchy subject with Yuuri, guaranteed to make him more irritable than normal. If not more irritable, closer to panicked.

“Don’t look at Vitya,” he snaps, “are they still doing research?”

It’s easy to see Minako’s irritation with his tone, but there isn't much she can do at the moment. Viktor feels the stirrings of anger. Yuuri’d _promised_ to try to be more cognizant. “Sire, the investigative process takes time.” She takes a breath. “His Royal Highness the Grand Duke is ensuring they work as quickly as they can, however, rushing it any more or ordering her release would be seen as an abuse of power. You cannot risk such a blow to your image.”

“She wasn't _involved.”_

“Sire, you and I both know her well, and though we'd make excellent character witnesses in a different case, in this one we’re seen as biased, as too close. This is a case of High Treason we’re dealing with, and as the monarch, you are at its center. We need veritable proof of her innocence in order for her release to be justifiable, especially with regards to the alleged evidence against her,” Minako emphasizes. “If you do not wish to be accused of favoritism and corruption, and if you want Hana-chan to avoid suspicion, you _must_ let the courts do their jobs.”

Displeased, Yuuri manages to angrily pour himself tea, and then angrily pour some for Viktor. Without comment, Viktor stirs sugar and milk in.

“I don't see why they’re forbidding me from seeing her. She’s allowed visitors, why not me?”

“Because her mother tried to kill both your fiancé and yourself, Your Majesty,” Minako explains again, “They’re also worried that her biases may influence you. This is her mother. They don’t want her persuading you that Kataoka-san is trustworthy.”

“I watched Kataoka-san attack Vitya, why the fuck would I trust her?”

“Because _you trust Hana.”_ Minako sighs. “Yuuri—”

“I'm _sorry?”_

Viktor scowls.

“Your Majesty,” she corrects, “my apologies.” Yuuri nods. As she continues, Minako stirs her tea, setting the spoon aside. “Sire, you trust Hana. Hana… could be biased.”

“She's as upset as I am, I'm sure of it,” he says. Biting his lower lip, he looks back up at Minako. “She… she _is_ upset, right?” Hesitating, he seems suddenly unsure of his earlier conviction. Doubt is starting to trickle in, all the ‘what-ifs’ Yuuri’d managed to keep in the back of his mind, suddenly returning in full force.

“Of course she’s upset, Sire,” Minako says, still careful with her tone. “She feels hurt and betrayed and _angry_ that her mother would be a part of something like this. Your Majesty, I can assure you, she loves you the same as she always has.”

Looking down, Yuuri bites his lip and nods. “Tell her… Tell her I greatly anticipate seeing her again.”

Minako’s face saddens. “Of course, I'll tell her the next time I see her. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” He looks over when Viktor clears his throat, and Viktor, still clearly annoyed, gives a very pointed look at their teacher. Nodding, Yuuri looks down at his hands.

“Minako-sensei,” he says softly, “I’ve been out of line. Just now, and especially when I found out you were going to see Hana-nee. I apologize.”

“I… Your Majesty,” she starts.

“You can be informal,” he says.

Smiling at him, she nods. “Yuuri, I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. We’re all doing our best to mitigate that and I- I know it must be so hard to be in your position. I can't _imagine_ the pressure you're under. We’re doing our best to get to the bottom of everything, and trying to put it back to rights. If you know how we can help you feel better, _please tell us._ We’re all here for you and Viktor, we care so much about both of you. “

“I know,” he whispers.

“We can't help if you push us away, Yuuri.”

“I know.”

“Is it really that hard?” Viktor asks. “To just…”

“Not pull rank?” Yuuri asks. Viktor nods, and Yuuri shrugs.

Minako sighs. “Vitya, I don't… entirely understand what having this sort of title feels like but it’s something Yuuri has had all his life that guarantees distance between him and whoever he’s talking to.”

“It's expected, Vitya,” Yuuri says. “It's… People don't keep pushing me if I tell them to stop, and it's socially acceptable fo—” Sighing, he sinks into his chair. “It doesn't matter. I'll be more aware in the future. My apologies.”

“I'm trying to understand,” Viktor says.

“I don't know how to _explain,”_ Yuuri responds. “I've never not had a title, I don't- I don't understand how it would feel to not have one.”

Viktor looks at him for a moment. “How did it feel in Detroit?”

“Like a _lie,”_ he says. “Like I was pretending to be Yuuri Katsuki in the same way I was pretending to be Asahi Maeda, and Hiro Kobayashi, and Takeshi Nakamura. An alias is an alias is an alias, even if it uses your real name. Yuuri Katsuki was a first-generation Sachiman-American kid from Philadelphia who lived near his sister while his distant, wealthy parents traveled the globe to do business,” Yuuri recites. “My personality wasn't fabricated, and I was as honest as I could be. I was _Yuuri,_ yes, but I was never _actually_ Yuuri Katsuki. I was never supposed to actually feel or _be_ common because I was always coming home. Where I was royal.”

It’s verbal confirmation of everything Viktor’s come to know before now, and he nods. Yuuri may never be able to explain, and that’s something Viktor will have to live with. Minako looks at him, eyes full of sympathy, and Viktor shrugs.

“So,” Minako says, calling everyone’s attention to her, “I have dates and times, if you need them, Yuuri.”

“I’ll be okay,” he whispers. “I don’t need to keep track of your movements.”

“I’ll still come tell you how she’s doing,” Minako says sympathetically. “I don’t mind, and this will tell you when you can expect that.” She holds out a paper.

Looking up, Yuuri nods gratefully and takes it. “I’ll see you again soon,” he says, “unless there’s something you want to talk about?”

Minako shakes her head. “No, Yuuri, not at the moment. Is a hug, though, amenable?”

Yuuri’s face visibly brightens as he stands up, hurrying around his desk and into her arms. It’s forgiveness she’s offering, and support, and Viktor can see in her embrace the promise of her enduring love.

 

~*~

 

Despite everyone’s best attempts, Yuuri’s anxiety grows almost all-encompassing. Even with another two updates from Minako, he worries ceaselessly, eats badly, barely sleeps more than a few hours without waking up, sometimes in a cold sweat. The exhaustion is starting to show after another week, and the Palace has taken to sending someone to do his makeup whenever he’s to meet with anyone, trying to at least minimize the bags under his eyes. It doesn't stop the rumors from spreading, but it certainly keeps the scope of the problem hidden. Viktor keeps occupied with physical therapy and wandering the grounds, and one night finds himself reading in their sitting room late one night while Yuuri, miraculously, sleeps.

His phone chimes, Mari texting to see if he’s still up. He confirms that he is but that Yuuri’s asleep, and then she asks if she and her mother could come talk to him. Viktor confirms again, but decides not to change out of his pajamas. His chest hurts too much to consider changing his clothes, and it doesn't really matter to begin with.

Mari texts again a minute later, asking permission to come in. They must not want to wake Yuuri, and Viktor invites them in. Immediately, they enter, and after locking the door, Hiroko moves to make tea while Mari sits on the couch across from Viktor.

“How are you doing, Vitya?”

“I'm alright,” Viktor says. This can't be what she's here for, but she’s probably waiting for Hiroko to sit with them before moving on to the point.

“Good to hear. Is Yuuri sound asleep?”

Viktor nods. “He was drowsy before we made it to our rooms after dinner. I practically had to guide him through getting ready for bed.”

Mari sighs.

“We’re… incredibly worried about him,” she says, glancing at the bedroom door.

“Me, too,” Viktor confesses. “He never got this bad in Detroit.”

“You may not have seen it.”

Shaking his head, Viktor sets his book aside. “I texted Phichit and asked. He says Yuuri just keeps discussing the investigation with him, the few scraps he can. Runs through it again and again. Detroit was more… He was angrier, according to Phichit. Not so panicked unless our relationship was brought up. He just looked depressed to me.”

“When he was fighting with the security team and preparing to come home,” Mari murmurs. “That makes sense, but it doesn't help _now.”_

“He's under a lot of pressure,” Hiroko says, setting a tray on the table and handing each of them their tea.

“It’s different, Hiroko-san,” Viktor says. “He was… This is worse. He’s less rational, more jumpy.”

“His bad sleep is still the same,” Mari points out.

“Worse,” Viktor says. “Tossing and turning, waking up at all hours… His sleep is terrible, I'm almost surprised he got to sleep at all earlier.”

“He’s been all over the place with us, too,” Mari adds. “Lashing out, pulling out his title more than usual, even with me. He rarely corrects me in private and he’s done it twice today.”

Frowning, Hiroko stirs her tea. “Has Minako-san said anything?”

“Not to me,” Mari replies. “Vitya?”

“No, we’ve mostly been working on royal stuff.”

Mari groans. “I wish Hana was here, she’d know what to do.”

“Wait,” Viktor says as realization dawns, “it might _be_ her. My sister had trouble for a bit when my Maman went to Quebec a while ago to visit family.”

“Explain?” Hiroko asks.

“She threw tantrums, wouldn't sleep alone until Maman had been home for a few days. It was the first time she hadn't had Maman around in her life. Given Hana’s been such a crucial part of Yuuri’s life so far, and for so long…”

Hiroko nods. “I'll talk to people. See if I can't get him in to see her. It seems like it could be separation anxiety. He had it when he left home, too, I don’t know how we didn’t see it now.”

“You guys could have talked to me,” Yuuri’s quiet voice comes from the doorway. When they turn, he’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. Bedhead, glasses, and the baggy pajamas he brought from Detroit make him look far younger than he is. Still, when he walks into the room he carries himself regally despite his exhaustion.

“You were asleep,” Mari says. “We're worried, Yuuri.”

“I'll be fine,” he says. Looking down, he rubs at his arm before glancing at the available seating. With Mari and Hiroko on the couch, the only other option is the empty armchair. Hiroko stands.

“I'll go make you some tea,” she says, “why don't you curl up with your sister?”

Something raw crosses Yuuri’s face before he glances at the ground once more, moving to sit next to Mari on the couch. She raises her arm, and he leans against her, stretching his injured leg out in front of him. Her hand squeezes his shoulder and he lets out a shaky breath. He looks about to cry, and Viktor wishes he was in a better position to hold him, let Yuuri sit on his lap but he can’t. Not with the pain he’s in.

The room is silent as Hiroko makes the tea, save for the shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle from Yuuri. Mari hugs him tighter, kissing the top of his head.

“I know you miss her,” she says gently.

“I'll be okay,” Yuuri whispers. “I have you, right?”

Understanding bleeds into Mari’s face. “You do,” she replies, “but I'm not Hana. I know you're closer with her, still.”

Burying his face in her shoulder, it seems he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Mari sighs. “Yuuri, I'm not upset.”

“She’s my guard,” he responds. “You're my big sister.”

 _“So is she,”_ Mari replies. “I know it must be weird, you and I are still getting to know each other and… Yuuri, she was your shield. Your protector, your guardian. While you were gone, all you had was her and they’ve taken her away.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispers.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. I'm okay with your relationship. I know at the start it was… I was jealous, and I let it show before I had thought it through.”

“Mari-neechan, I—”

“Yuuri. I'm okay. I'm not offended, it makes perfect sense.”

“But you—”

“It's possible to be close to more than one sibling, Lyubov,” Viktor interjects, “trust me— I have two. You can build a relationship with Mari without sacrificing the one with Hana.”

“And I won't be upset about you needing her,” Mari adds. “She’s such a _huge_ part of your life.”

“They're right,” Hiroko says as she holds out Yuuri’s favorite mug. Gratefully, he takes it, blowing over the top before taking a sip. “We ought to have accounted for how her absence might have affected you.”

“I've been away from her before.” Yuuri’s looking down again, playing with the hem of his shirt. There's something he's not saying, and Viktor suspects he knows what's bugging him so much.

“You still _had_ her,” Hiroko says, insightful as ever, “you could still talk to her whenever you wanted, right?”

Surprised, Yuuri jerks his head up to look at his mother, now sitting in the extra armchair, before biting his lip, looking back down as he nods.

“I miss her,” he whispers.

“I know,” Mari says, pulling him close. “Kaa-chan’s going to see if she can get you in to see Hana. That'll help, right?”

Yuuri nods. “I hope so.”

Viktor does, too. Anything that can ease the stress Yuuri's under is a good thing in Viktor's mind. He needs it.

 

~*~

 

“Your wrist is healing nicely,” the nurse says as she puts up the x-rays. “Your ribs, as well. Have you noticed a difference in your breathing?”

“It's easier,” Viktor responds, “but it still hurts.”

“It's going to for a while yet,” she says. “You should be able to start very light exercise in a few weeks. We'll have a brace made for your wrist when the cast comes off; you're to wear it at all times when you're putting strain on it, or if you're at risk of falling. We’ll have one made for high-impact should you return to skating eventually.”

“Okay. How soon will the cast be off?”

“A couple of weeks yet,” she answers. “The cast will be off before you're cleared to exercise.”

Viktor restrains a sigh. The Grand Prix series seems out of reach, now. “Will I be able to compete by December?” he asks.

“That's a question for your doctor when you see him next week, sir. I feel that if you heal well and are very careful about things, you _could,_ but I can’t give a straight answer at the moment. My apologies.”

“It's alright,” Viktor replies. “I've had major injuries before, I know how recovery can be.”

She nods. “How’s physical therapy?” Pulling out Viktor’s chart, she gets ready to take notes.

He goes into as much detail as he can. For all his stubbornness, he’s always been more than ready to work with medical professionals. They keep him healthy and competing, after all, and he takes both very seriously.

 

Once he’s done with his checkup, Viktor makes his way back through the palace to Yuuri’s working office. Isamu is supposed to be here with more information today, or at least for their usual meeting regarding the investigation, and though Viktor has a solid excuse for tardiness, he’d rather arrive on time, if not early. As much as he’d loved the elevator after a hard practice, he’s grown in his appreciation now that he can’t walk up a flight stairs without his chest aching horribly. The working office is only on the second floor, but each story of the palace is far taller than a typical residence, and Viktor suspects it’s closer to two or three stories than just the one. The elevator arrives in a timely manner, a footman bowing to Viktor as he exits, and in no time at all Viktor’s getting out on the upper floor. From there, it’s not too terribly far, and when he knocks, Yuuri’s voice calls for him to come in.

Smiling, he opens the door, seeing only Yuuri at his desk, and makes his way in. Yuuri stands, with some trouble, but manages to limp around the desk, going up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Viktor’s lips.

“We’ll be in the sitting room,” he says when he pulls back. “I just have to sign a couple of things and I’ll be right in, my uncle isn’t here yet.”

“Can I ask someone for coffee?”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies, “please tell them to bring service for three, and I want some biscotti, too.”

Dipping into the hallway, he makes the necessary requests, instructing the attendant to have everything brought to the sitting room. They agree readily, confirm the number of people, and bow before hurrying off. Eventually, Viktor assumes he'll get used to being deferred to but for now it remains strange.

Yuuri is still signing the end of some document, absently reaching out to grab the seal and wet it with ink, bringing it over to the paper and making his mark.

“New law?” Viktor asks.

“No,” Yuuri responds, “I have to sign every document I read to confirm I've read it. This was… some sort of…” Flipping through the pages, he purses his lips. “Ah, this is the one discussing a new wildlife survey.”

“You don't remember?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Vitya I sign so many things. It’s hard to remember exactly which one was last when you’ve been staring at paperwork ad nauseum since early morning.” Stacking the pages to the side, Yuuri sits back in his seat and sighs.

“Long day?”

“I had six different people in here telling me six different ways I ought to handle everything, around trying to sign everything and read and… Everyone seems to have a better idea of how to run the country right now than I do, according to them, and it’s getting ridiculous how much people think they can strongarm me into doing what they suggest because they suggest it and have more knowledge. I have committees for a reason!”

“What are you doing when this is over?”

“Nothing, really,” he says.

“We could cuddle,” Viktor replies. “My ribs aren’t constantly screaming anymore. Movie on the couch?”

Yuuri nods. “That sounds nice. My mom’s gotten permission for me to see Hana tomorrow, so I’m nervous. And excited.” He sighs again as an attendant enters.

“Your Majesty, the Grand Duke has just arrived and will be making his way to your sitting room directly.”

Thanking them, Yuuri waves them off and sighs, standing to switch rooms.

 

Isamu looks grim when he arrives.

Next to Viktor on the couch, Yuuri crosses his legs, resting his cup on his thigh. “What news?”

“That’s the problem,” Isamu says. “We’re not finding much of anything at the moment.”

Frowning, Yuuri glances at Viktor. “For either investigation?”

“Correct, Yuuri-sama,” Isamu says.

Yuuri blanches. His nerves about Hana have been terrible and he’d been hoping so badly that Isamu would come to them with a solution, but here he is, saying there’s been no progress made. “What?”

“We have nothing else, Yuuri-sama.” It’s obvious Isamu hates being the bearer of bad news and somewhere under the manners of royalty is an uncle who wants nothing more than to hug his nephew. “We’re working as hard as we can,” he says earnestly, “Yuuri-sama, I’m trying.”

“I know,” Yuuri whispers. “Just… keep me posted? If anything else happens?”

“Of course,” Isamu promises, “you’ll know the instant I know anything.”

 

~*~

 

Leg bouncing, Yuuri rubs his palms with his thumbs. They pull into the prison gates, guards immediately waving them through. Hiroko takes Yuuri’s hand.

“You'll see her soon,” she soothes. Nodding in response, Yuuri takes deep, shaking breaths as he tries to compose himself. Barely paying attention when they come to a stop, Yuuri wastes no time in getting out of the car. Like usual, he waits for Viktor, offering his arm so they can walk in together, but today he’s brusque about things, anxious to see his sister.

The prison staff seem to sense this, wasting no time with introductions. The head warden bows to Yuuri before turning on his heel and heading in, Yuuri and Viktor at his side.

“My name is Inoue Hachirou,” the warden says. “I have been in the Crown’s service for several decades, sire.”

“I’m sure you’ve served us well, Inoue-san,” Yuuri replies monotonously. “What will I need to know for my visit with Kataoka Hana-san?”

“Due to the nature of the investigation she’s under, and your involvement, Sire, we must insist on a few extra security measures.”

“Go on,” Yuuri says as they turn a corner.

“Kataoka-san will be restrained. We must insist on very little physical contact, Sire. While you’ll be left alone you’ll be monitored, and if anything suspicious is noticed we’re required to cut your time with her short.” Taking a deep breath, Inoue looks at Yuuri. “I hope you’ll understand, Sire, and not take it as offense should we need to do this.” He sounds firm, yet regretful.

“I highly doubt that will be necessary,” Yuuri bites, “but I will not be offended by you doing your jobs. You have my word.”

They turn a corner, going from administration to the interrogation cells. Some look considerably nicer than others, and they stop in front of a small wooden door. “Sire, this is the room from which we will be watchi—”

“One-way glass, correct? I get it, you’ll be monitoring, you’ll interrupt if you need. When can I see her?”

Somewhat taken aback, Inoue does well covering it up, instead nodding as he gestures to a heavy metal door. “She’s in there, Sire. Will you be wanting someone with you?”

Glancing between his mother and Viktor, Yuuri hesitates for a moment, though his eyes constantly move towards Hiroko. He wants his mom, and he doesn’t want to upset Viktor.

“Velichestvo,” Viktor says, “if you don’t require me at your side, it may be easier for me to stay standing than it is sitting down and getting back up.”

“You could stand,” the warden says, “so long as you stay on the far side of the table from Kataoka-san.” It’s at this point Viktor holds back a sigh and hopes Yuuri hears the suggestion for what it was— Viktor saying it’s okay for Yuuri to make his own choice. When Yuuri meets his eyes, Viktor smiles, nods, and Yuuri adjusts his cufflinks.

“I’ll be accompanied by my mother,” Yuuri says. “Thank you.”

Yuuri and Hiroko are escorted to the other door, and Viktor is ushered into the observation room with the bodyguards. Through the window, he sees Hana sitting at the table in handcuffs threaded through a metal loop on the surface. Her hair is pulled out of her face, and she’s wearing loose cotton pants and a t-shirt. Pale, she has dark circles under her eyes but otherwise looks healthy. The door to the left opens.

“His Royal Majesty the King and Her Royal Majesty the Queen Mother,” a guard announces. Hana visibly brightens, standing at her place while the guards snap to attention. With impressive restraint, Yuuri keeps from running to her like Viktor knows he wants to. Quickly, Yuuri takes the chair across from Hana, his mother sitting next to him.

Looking at the guards, Yuuri gives a dismissive wave. “You may leave us,” he says.

“We’ll be back in ten minutes, Your Majesty,” the guard responds with a bow, closing the door after they’ve all filed out.

“Nee-chan,” Yuuri says when they’re alone.

“Your Majesties,” Hana says. “King Yuuri, it’s… how are you doing? How’s Viktor?”

“Vitya and I are doing alright, we announced our engagement if you didn’t see.”

“Minako’s been visiting when she can,” Hana says, “so I have some idea of what’s going on, but the information she can give is limited. They said you were hurt?” Reaching across the table, she takes Yuuri’s hands in hers, both gripping tightly. The guards around Viktor go for their guns, but stop when he holds his hand up.

“She won’t hurt him,” Viktor says with more authority than he expects. Instead of arguing, the guards stand down, though they don’t relax. Oblivious, Yuuri rubs his thumbs on the back of Hana’s hands.

“Some cuts and scrapes,” he says, looking to the side.

 _“What did she do to you?”_ Hana asks, point-blank. Yuuri looks up, meets her eyes, and then stares at a spot on the table just in front of her.

“Stabbed my leg. Not much, but I needed stitches. Defensive wounds on my arm. She broke Viktor’s ribs vaulting him to attack.”

“She didn’t shoot him?”

“Her gun jammed,” Yuuri says, voice thick. “She- she tried, though. She went for Yulian’s gun, at first. So it’d be easier.”

Closing her eyes, Hana bites her lip as a tear runs down her cheek. “I can’t believe this,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

Firmly squeezing her hands, Yuuri leans forward. “You didn’t do it,” he says, “it’s not like you could have known.”

“I knew something was off when I was called away,” she says. “When the second guard was found to be missing, they asked me to look into it and I… I shouldn’t’ve, I should have stayed with you to _protect_ you.”

Crying as well, Hana seems taken aback when Hiroko offers her a tissue, though she takes it gratefully. Hiroko looks at her. “Hana-chan,” she says, “you were acting in the interest of secrecy. Yuuri was well-guarded even without you. You’re not to blame in the least.”

Nodding, Hana does what she can to wipe her eyes while keeping one hand on Yuuri’s. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Nee-chan, you don’t- there’s no need for this,” Yuuri says, “it was your mom that did this.”

“If I hadn’t trusted her, though,” Hana says, “I could ha—”

“Hana-chan,” Hiroko interrupts, “do you forget I trusted her, too? She was a close companion in the years you were gone. We connected over missing our children, and she shared my joy when we got word you both would be returning. There was no reason to suspect her until later, and even then, we couldn’t prove it was _her_ that needed to be suspected. No one knew she’d gone until she arrived in Russia, and by then there was enough going on that her presence wasn’t questioned. She was a high-ranking member of the Royal Guard, at one point part of the King’s Guard itself. There was little reason to think she’d be anything but loyal.”

Bowing her head, Hana nods. Meeting Yuuri’s eyes, she does her best to give a reassuring smile. “How are you doing though?”

“I miss you,” Yuuri says, scared and sounding so incredibly young. “I miss you I want- I just want to tell them to let you _go.”_

Taking both of his hands in hers once more, Hana leans forward. “You can’t,” she says. “Your Majesty, you need to let the courts do their job.”

“I _know,”_ Yuuri says. “I miss you though, Nee-chan.” He’s doing his best not to cry, knowing he’s being watched, but still, tears wet tracks down his cheeks. The guards shift uncomfortably at this unprecedented display of emotion by their King.

“You’ll get through this,” Hana says. “You’re strong, I know you can do this. I’ll be okay, Majesty.”

Nodding, Yuuri seems to give up on restraining the tears, instead focusing on keeping his facial expressions and body language in check. “I don’t know how to do it without you,” he whispers.

“You can, though,” she says. “You’re not alone, you have Viktor and your mom and your sister and Minako and your uncle, all here for you and ready to help. Once my name is cleared, they’ll release me and I can see you again.”

“I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too,” she says. “You can get through this.”

“Will you be mad?” he asks, voice small.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“Your mother will likely end up in jail for life,” he whispers.

“Because she _attacked_ you,” Hana says. “She committed High Treason. Which is a _crime._ Remember what I told you about actions and accepting consequences?”

Yuuri nods. Moving forward when Hana gestures for him to do so, he closes his eyes when she cups his cheek in her hand. “Listen to me. I will never blame you for this. I never blamed you for us leaving home, and I will _never_ blame you for my mother being prosecuted for crimes _she_ committed, do you understand?” Nodding harder, Yuuri takes a tissue his mother offers, wiping at his eyes with one hand. Hana thumbs away a tear, smiling reassuringly as Yuuri tries to choke his emotions into submission. “I love you,” she says. “You need to focus on the investigation.”

“It's slowing down,” Yuuri says. Putting her hand on his shoulder, Hiroko gets his attention and shakes her head. They aren't supposed to discuss the investigation with Hana. There is still no solid proof of her innocence. Biting his lip, Yuuri looks at the table.

“We can get through this,” Hana says.

Leaning forward, Hiroko takes both of their hands. “Neither of you are alone in this,” she says. “You both have all of us supporting you and working to make sure the investigation is conducted properly, the right people are prosecuted, and everything gets cleared up. We’re here for both of you.”

Nodding, Hana and Yuuri squeeze each other’s hands. Hana puts on a brave face, smiling at her adopted little brother as she cups his cheek again. “Stay strong,” she says, meeting his eyes, “do things right. Stay safe. I believe in you, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Chewing on his lower lip, Yuuri nods again, and Viktor glances over as a guard mutters, “I don’t like how she’s treating him.”

“You’re referring to Hana, I presume?” Viktor asks.

The guard nods. “She’s too familiar with His Royal Majesty. He’s our king. She’s just a commoner, and a guard no less.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow. “Do you forget I’m a commoner?” Blanching the guard glances at his supervisor, who makes no move to help him. Looking him up and down, Viktor makes a show of adjusting his waistcoat. “His Majesty is more than capable of addressing issues of propriety,” he says, “and as he’s said nothing it would be safe to assume he’s more than okay with this. I would consult him before making further moves.”

“Of course, Mr. Nikiforov,” the guard replies. Inoue heads back out, knocking on the door. Hurriedly, Yuuri wipes at his face, as if he’s forgotten that Viktor and the other guards can see him, before calling out for the warden to enter. He does, and in hushed, deferential tones Yuuri is told he’ll need to wrap it up soon.

 

In the car, Yuuri curls up against his mother and does his best not to cry. They hadn’t been allowed hugs, though they’d held each other’s hands for a long moment over the table. Hiroko had taken Hana’s hand and squeezed it tightly, smiling. Guards had passed Yuuri as he’d left the room, and Viktor noticed him turn back to wave, a small motion and nothing like the regal waves of his official appearances. It was the wave of a child unsure they’re ever going to see someone again, and Viktor could see Hana’s heart break.

Viktor squeezes the hand he’s holding, getting a squeeze in return from Yuuri as his mother holds him. It’s quiet for a few minutes, the car making its way smoothly through the streets of Hasetsu, but Yuuri sits up as they near the palace.

“I want to see Kataoka-san,” he says quietly.

“Yuuri, that’s dangerous,” Hiroko warns. “She’s already tried to kill you once.”

“There are guards. I’ll be fine, I’m not scared of her,” he replies with absolute surety.

“And the people she’s working with?” Hiroko asks, gentle and inquisitive.

“No,” Yuuri says. “I’m more worried about fucking up. Or Vitya getting hurt. The thing about having people after you for most of your life is you just… you find other things to be scared of.”

His tone says there’s no question he’s almost lost the ability to be scared of threats. Worried, yes, and certainly not inclined to overlook them, but threats themselves have lost their luster. Viktor wonders how young Yuuri had been when death threats had become mundane.

“Tomorrow,” Yuuri says as he takes his crown from where he’d set it down, setting it back on his head. “I’m going to see her tomorrow.”

 

~*~

 

Groggy, Viktor wanders out of the bathroom. Still dark outside, he knows it's far too early for them to need to get out of bed, and Yuuri lays peacefully on the bed in front of him. Well, almost peacefully. His breathing lacks the slow cadence of sleep, labored and uneven as he curls into himself. Frowning, Viktor blinks at him, going over and taking as deep a breath as he can manage before lowering himself to his knees next to Yuuri’s side of the bed.

“Lyubov,” he whispers. Unsurprisingly, Yuuri doesn't wake up. He does roll on his side, though. Gingerly, Viktor takes his hand, pulling it close as he rubs the palm with his thumb. “Lyubov, I'm here.” A yawn eases out of him, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes before he wipes them away with the fingertips of his left hand. Better them than the cast, again, and he can't wait to have full use of his hand once more.

Yuuri’s hand grips Viktor’s good one, tightly for a moment as he whispers Viktor's name.

“Lyubov?” It's looking more and more like a nightmare, and the grimace Yuuri’s wearing confirms it. They’re seeing Atsuko tomorrow… later today, and Yuuri can’t afford bad sleep like this. Not that he normally can, but he has to be at his best with Atsuko in the room. She can't think she has the upper hand.

With a shout, Yuuri pulls his hand from Viktor’s and sits up, only to turn towards the windows. Towards Viktor's side of the bed and before Viktor can speak he hears a hitched sob, a desperate “no” gasped into the dark.

“Lyubov,” Viktor says and Yuuri turns to him, relief flooding his face as he opens his arms.

And then he pulls them to his chest.

“Lyubov, it’s ok,” Viktor says, opening his own, and Yuuri leans over and clings. With most of Yuuri’s weight on the bed, Viktor’s not feeling much more than a slight ache but having Yuuri’s arms around him again is more than worth it. Holding his fiancé, he kisses his cheek, whispers reassurance as Yuuri does his best to calm down, to breathe, to seemingly take comfort in the fact that Viktor is _here,_ with him, instead of wherever his anxiety said he’d gone. Viktor rubs his back soothingly as his breathing slows.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Yuuri pulls away, sitting upright as he wipes his eyes. “I couldn't find you,” he whispers. “I was running around, calling your name and you just… didn't answer. You weren't with me anymore. I… You could have left or been taken or killed or—”

“Probably in the bathroom,” Viktor mutters. Yuuri scowls at him, but if Viktor squints he can make out a smile on Yuuri’s lips.

“Is that where you were just now?”

Viktor nods.

“Aren't your knees hurting?” Yuuri asks.

“They’re killing me,” Viktor says, shifting his weight. “Help me up?”

Yuuri tosses the lightweight duvet off, and for a moment Viktor can see the still-healing wound in his leg, almost three centimeters long, before he stands and his shorts fall to cover it. It takes some effort, but they get Viktor standing and he kisses Yuuri before hobbling around the bed.

They’re situated under the covers, fingertips entwined, when Yuuri lets out an almost mournful sigh.

“What is it?” Viktor asks.

“I wanna cuddle,” Yuuri says. “It's been almost a month.”

Taking a moment, Viktor assesses himself, before lowering his bed to lay horizontal, perfectly even with Yuuri’s side. Sleeping on his side is out of the question, still, but Yuuri moves eagerly when Viktor pulls him over. Arm draped over Viktor’s stomach, head resting on his shoulder, Yuuri sighs happily as he snuggles in.

“Is this—” He yawns. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect,” Viktor says, bringing his arm to rest on Yuuri’s back. “Is the cast digging in?”

“Nope,” Yuuri murmurs. “‘S all good. Love you, Vityusha.”

“I love you, too, Yuuri,” Viktor says around another yawn, happily settling in with his fiancé's arms around him for the first time in far too long.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri takes his seat across from Atsuko. She looks haggard, tired, as if she’s gotten very little sleep. Something vindictive in Viktor is glad. As little sleep as Yuuri’s been getting, as much as Hana’s been through during her jailing, Atsuko deserves to share their exhaustion. Still, he maintains the facade required of him as he follows Yuuri into the interrogation room and sits to his left.

Atsuko refuses to meet their eyes, at first. The guards around the perimeter stand ready, hands on their weapons. Unlike Hana, they know Atsuko is guilty. She was apprehended with literal blood on her hands _(Yuuri’s blood, Viktor remembers, and his fury crawls at him, scratches at his ribs, desperate to be let loose)._ Yuuri doesn’t let her display of indifference faze him. He sits back in the chair, much like he does on the throne, steepling his fingers in front of him as he stares her down. Where his visit with Hana was about love, about reassurance, about seeing his sister again, this one has a much more serious point.

Letting the silence drag on, Yuuri seems to relish in the way discomfort spreads through the room, as Atsuko glances at him, repeatedly, out of the corner of her eye. Yuuri doesn’t move. The crown on his head is tall, harsh, with black opals set into gleaming gunmetal. With Yuuri’s black suit and rigid posture, it only adds to his aura, imposing and demanding the attention of all present even as he’s silent, and it’s only a few minutes more before Atsuko breaks.

“I suppose you’re here to ask me to confess everything, Your Majesty?” she asks.

“Is there any point?” he responds. “They’ve been interrogating you for weeks.”

“They have.”

“And yet you’ve said nothing, despite them giving you information you requested about the events that transpired. Why? It’s certainly not to avoid a prison sentence, you were caught red-handed.”

“I have loyalty, Your Majesty,” she says. “Loyalty to my country. Loyalty to my culture and my people.”

“And apparently little loyalty to your King, despite your line of work.”

“I serve those who would lead my country. I served your father, until he tried to strip us of our heritage. I would serve you, should you become the sovereign our country needs. Until that point, _Sire,_ I’m afraid my loyalties lie elsewhere.”

“And that’s why you won’t talk?”

“There’s no reason I should.” She sits back, looking at him while she touches the handcuffs she’s wearing.

“Is this your plan? Stay silent while people break in and launch an unsuccessful mission to destroy the evidence in the case against you while letting other people take the fall?”

Eyes straight ahead, Atsuko sits still for a long while before she speaks again. “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, my mind is made up.” She mutters something in Japanese, and looks back at the table.

Rage simmering under an almost genial expression, Yuuri lets out a breath.

“I see,” he says. Standing, he offers Viktor his arm to use to pull himself up. Viktor does, biting back a hiss, before he straightens his waistcoat and jacket, following Yuuri to the door. Just before Yuuri exits, he turns back, narrowing his eyes.

“Hana-san is truly unfortunate,” he says, “to have a mother who would leave her to serve time in prison for a crime she didn't commit.”

“I'm sorry?” Atsuko asks.

“You heard me.” Turning, Yuuri leaves the room and Viktor follows, not even dignifying Atsuko with a glance back.

 

~*~

 

“I wish there was some way to get her to _talk!”_ Pacing the length of their bedroom, Yuuri’s panic is growing almost as quickly as his anger after their visit. “There’s— There has to be—”

“Breathe, Lyubov.”

“I’m trying! I just…” Taking the crown off his head, Yuuri shoves it in its case and sets the case aside. “I— Vitya, her own _daughter!_ She’s been told and still— There’s nothing beyond that I can use to _persuade_ her, not without several human rights violations and I’m not going to resort to that, I can’t, but she has to— They won’t let Hana go!”

“We’ll have to find the evidence we need.”

“There isn’t any! There’s _nothing,_ the investigation has slowed almost to a stop. I just… Vitya, I don’t know what to _do!”_ Yanking his tie loose, Yuuri tosses it on the bed, his suit jacket and waistcoat following. Grimacing, he rubs his shoulder, where Viktor knows the scar tissue is still somewhat raw.

“I should know how to handle this,” he whispers. “I should be able to take care of this, to get— I should be able to get Hana free, I— Takeda, I should be able to put him away but we have _nothing_ and—”

Mari’s knock comes through the door. Yuuri gestures for Viktor to answer it as he untucks his dress shirt, pulling it off so he’s wearing only an undershirt. When Viktor opens the door, Mari comes in, making her way to the bedroom when Viktor gestures in that direction. They get there before Yuuri comes out of the bathroom, hair rinsed and toweled mostly dry, hanging around his face. Red and puffy, his eyes have clearly been rubbed at under the glasses he’s wearing now.

“Yuuri? I take it it didn’t go well?” Mari asks.

“What the fuck do you think?” he bites.

She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t even get angry. Instead, she walks over to him, opening her arms and wrapping them around Yuuri when he falls into them. “We’ll get through this,” she says, running her fingers through the short hairs on the side of Yuuri’s head. “We’re gonna find a way to get Hana-chan out of jail, we’re going to find a way to get proof she’s innocent.”

“What if there is none?” Yuuri asks into her shoulder. “What— what if everything goes wrong and they _convict_ Hana-nee. Mari-neechan, I— I can’t, not if she’s locked up like that, I— How could Kataoka-san not _say anything?!_ Her daughter’s locked up because of her and— what if she wants me to just order her release, I can't do that, what— Mari-nee, I don’t know what to _do.”_

He buries his face in his sister’s kimono, crying freely into the silk as she rubs his back. “Oji-san’s doing his best to help,” she says. “We’re looking at every avenue right now. I know it feels like you’re powerless, especially since you can’t be as involved with the investigation as you want, but you’re _not._ You’re doing what you need to do. You’re staying strong, you’re leading our people through this.”

“No one’s leading me,” Yuuri chokes. “I don’t— Mari I don’t have— I feel like I have to make everything up as I go, I don't know what I'm doing!”

Holding him close, she kisses the top of his head, rubs his back in soothing circles. “You're not alone, though. You have Isamu-ojisan, and Minako-sensei and Kaa-chan. You have _me,_ at your right hand. Your job is to focus on maintaining order. You need to address the people, you need to keep dealing with normal legislation. It can’t look like you're getting involved in the investigation politically.”

“It's a political investigation! _High Treason,_ not just attempted murder.”

“You can't be seen using your power to influence is what I mean. Yuuri, you’re doing your job fantastically—”

“It doesn't feel like it—”

“—and I know there’s a lot but you’re managing it better than you seem to think.” Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she smiles at him. “Yuuri, we’ll figure it out. Hana’s not going to be hurt.”

“But I can't see her and I can't talk to her and I'm _scared,_ Mari-nee. I don't know what I'm doing. I have to lead and- I mean, I haven't even been home for a year! Culture shock is a thing!”

Viktor frowns. “I didn't know you had culture shock.”

“Some, yeah.” Yuuri pulls away from his sister. “I mean… There’s only so much you can insulate someone when they're going to public school, but that’s not the point!”

“Yuuri,” Mari says, putting her hands on his shoulders, “Isamu-ojisan is here, still, you're not doing this alone. You can let someone else take charge with some stuff.”

“No, Mari, I can't, because I'm King. There’s no one to fill in for me that… carries the same weight. I _have_ to lead. Isamu-ojisan can do all he wants, but at the end of the day, the nation looks to _me.”_

Arguing against that is impossible. Yuuri’s face is already on money in circulation, when Mari and Isamu address the country they’re always asked why it’s not Yuuri. The people respect their Crown Princess and Grand Duke, but they hold their King at a higher level of importance, and he embodies far more than just the role of ‘political leader.’ Yuuri is the symbol of a nation, and Viktor can sympathize, if not understand entirely.

 

~*~

 

Viktor takes the back entrance to the conference room Yuuri’s in. The meeting is done, and according to the attendants outside he’s just chatting with someone, so Viktor proceeds to push through the door. Smiling when he makes eye contact, Yuuri nods at Viktor, gestures for him to come over if he wants. He does. The noble Yuuri’s talking to bows in Viktor’s direction as well, when they leave. Pecking Yuuri on the lips, Viktor brushes a piece of lint off his shoulder.

“How was it?” he asks.

Letting out a sigh, Yuuri allows his shoulders to slump. “Alright. I mean, nothing significant happened and I—”

“Your Majesty?” Yuuri straightens as he looks at the source of the noise

When they turn, a small group of nobles is standing by the door. The one standing towards the front, Yoshida, walks forward, and the others follow closely. “Your Majesty, if we could beg a moment of your time, in regards to the unfortunate events that took place in Russia?”

Yuuri gestures permission.

“Your Majesty,” Yoshida continues, “We firmly believe it would be in your best interests to demonstrate fully what happens when one acts against the Royal Family, and especially yourself, Sire.”

Eyes narrowing, Yuuri crosses his arms in front of him. “Speak plainly,” he says. “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“The crimes against your esteemed self, Your Royal Majesty, are grave, and as demonstrated by your recent visit with the traitor she is of no further use to you. She is stubborn and unremorseful, and for this we believe she should be justly punished. Your Majesty, we, your most _loyal_ supporters wish only to see the Royal Family and especially yourself healthy and prosperous, and feel as though anything less than execution is too light a sentence for such a heinous act as High Treason.”

Somberly, Yuuri stares at the noble. His face is unreadable, but the set of his shoulders says he’s not happy with this turn in conversation. “I’ll take that into consideration, Your Grace, my Lords,” he says. “For now, I believe it’s prudent to let our judicial system do its job.”

“Sire, execution has been outlawed in this country since before your father took the throne,” a woman says from the back.

“I am well aware of that,” Yuuri replies firmly. “Despite my absence I’ve been extensively educated in the legal affairs of Akitsushima, as you well know.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she says, chastised.

Another man speaks up. “We merely thought it prudent to remind you, Sire, that as King you have the option to override—”

“I am _well aware_ of my powers, Okada-san,” Yuuri snaps. “Your input has been noted, all of you. Thank you. I will make my decision on my own time. You may take your leave.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Bowing, Yoshida turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the room. The nobles he was with bow as well, before turning to take their leave.

 

When they’re alone, Yuuri directs the guards outside his office to ensure his privacy.

“They want me to order her death,” he says in stunned disbelief, sinking into the soft leather office chair behind him. He’s being pressured from all sides and now, the nobility has asked Yuuri to blatantly abuse his power to make a _point._ Yuuri is understandably horrified, and Viktor with him.

Shoulders shaking, hands trembling uncontrollably, Yuuri looks up. Tears run down his cheeks as his eyes meet Viktor’s, young and terrified and angry and so desperately _lost._ “Vitya, they want me to _kill her.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**At this moment**_  
>  _You mean everything_  
>  \- Come On Eileen, Dexy's Midnight Runners
> 
>  
> 
> The response to last chapter was incredible!! Holy shit!! But now we're here and Yuuri's not exactly thrilled at what's going on. 
> 
> If anyone wants a mood song I listen to, [Jetta's "I'd Love to Change The World" (Matstubs Remix).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii1ys4bO7P0) The build and the decisiveness at the end is what gets me.
> 
> Chapter count's been bumped up to a (tentative) eighteen, and I feel like that's close to final, so there's that!! This ride has been incredible and I want to thank everyone again for reading!! I love the comments people have left and appreciate my silent readership just as much, so many thank yous to everyone!!!
> 
> Huge thanks again to Isis and Riki, for being amazing and putting up with my complaining and frantic talk-throughs of misbehaving plot points.
> 
> The next chapter will be up at the end of October!!


	16. As Every Color Illuminates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catharsis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Spectrum by Florence + the machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcpngOvcBlg) [(Lyrics)](https://genius.com/Florence-the-machine-spectrum-lyrics)
> 
>  **Warning:** Viktor is one depressed dude in this, and it gets bad before it gets better. (No suicidal thoughts, though, and it _does_ get better.)

Cameras are trained on Viktor from all sides of the press briefing room. Beside him stands Yuuri, in a suit and a relatively simple crown, hands clasped in front of him, but for once he’s here as support rather than being the one to address the world. That falls to Viktor, and he feels the stirrings of anger in him as final sound checks are made.

His so-called “fans” are out of control. The accusations being leveled at Yuuri have grown in frequency and intensity in the last few days, especially once Yakov had confirmed Viktor's absence in the upcoming Grand Prix Series.

Turning toward Yuuri, he smiles. Yuuri smiles in return. He’d fretted a bit through breakfast, but he didn't keep offering Viktor tips like he tends to do before big events. He knows Viktor can handle the press, has heard the scathing remarks he’s delivered in the past and has seen him interact with reporters before. Minako raises her hand to the side, indicating they’ll be going live soon, and Viktor lets out a breath, nodding.

The iPad resting on the podium in front of him has his notes; just a few talking points to disseminate the rumors. He’d written what he wanted to say, and the Palace had taken the liberty of checking it over before approving the press conference. There had been no changes, he’d noted with smug satisfaction, and he breathes again when Minako starts the countdown. Viktor slides into his public persona, different though it is after months of living royal and another few weeks of Minako’s strict instruction, and smiles as the press conference begins.

“It has come to my attention,” he starts, “that a large group of my fans, or fans of figure skating in general, have been jumping to conclusions and leveling serious accusations of sabotage at my fiancé and the Royal Palace here in Hasetsu. These accusations have absolutely no basis in fact.” It comes out angrier than it ought to, if the grimace on Minako’s face is any indication, and Viktor takes another breath. It’s unbecoming of royalty to show too much emotion.

Viktor hates following unnecessary rules.

“I would first like to express my dismay that it seems to be a common assumption that I would allow _any_ significant other to exercise such control over my life and career. While I consult with others while making decisions, in the end they are mine and mine alone. King Yuuri has not once in the course of our relationship expressed anything other than his unwavering support in regards to my career and all other matters. As we’ve been together since just after last year’s Trophee de France, I can assure you he’s had ample opportunity to do so. The day before the attack I’d expressed an interest in skating this upcoming season, and his only response was excitement to see me back in competition.”

There are murmurs amongst the press. Apparently the rumors had been more widespread than they’d initially realized. Restraining a sigh and feeling a twinge in his chest, Viktor looks back out at the room, holding his chin level.

“This brings me to my second point,” he says. “The attack in Russia was not, by any means, _orchestrated_ by the King of Akitsushima in order to keep me off the ice. These accusations are unjust and disrespectful not only of myself, but of my fiancé, who _also_ sustained injuries after escaping two attempts on his life in the span of less than an hour. To accuse him of going such lengths to keep me from competition is, frankly, offensive, and disrespects the impact this attack has had on both ourselves and those who care for us. I respectfully ask that these rumors be laid to rest. Again, they have absolutely no basis in fact and His Majesty and I have a mutually respectful and loving relationship.”

 

~*~

 

The public goes wild. The next few days bring with them a sea of inquiries, new accusations of a cover-up (though with far fewer supporters), and phone calls from pretty much everyone Viktor knows. Most go well. His mothers call and remind him of their support. Yakov calls and merely asks after Viktor’s injuries, asks once if Viktor is happy. When Viktor replies in the affirmative, Yakov grunts and makes an excuse to get off the phone.

Chris calls while Viktor is in the library, curled up on a window seat it’s been months since he’s had the pleasure to use. As it’s otherwise unoccupied, Viktor doesn't bother moving when he answers the phone.

“Vitya, it's good to hear your voice,” Chris says in French. “I've been worried.”

“About? My recovery has been publicized, everyone knows I'm okay.”

Chris sighs. “Still, though. How is everything with Coffee Boy?”

“We’re engaged,” Viktor replies, “which is also highly publicized.”

“You looked stressed at your press conference.”

“Chris, someone tried to murder me and everyone was blaming Yuuri, and we're nowhere near the end of the investigation.” Despite his best efforts, it comes out clipped.

There’s another sigh. “And how _is_ Yuuri?”

“Recovering,” Viktor says. “Stressed. He’s running the country and dealing with the investigations. But he’s recovering.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re not telling me to leave,” Viktor notes.

“You can make your own decisions. I'm sure Yuuri had the best intentions.”

“Is that so?” Viktor knows he sounds impatient but he’s too tired to try mincing words these days when he doesn’t _have_ to.

“I talked to Phichit,” Chris admits. “I figured outside of you, he had the best understanding of the situation. He explained about the whole security thing.”

“Well it's good to know you’ll at least listen to Phichit when he says there’s nothing shady about the situation.” It's harsh. Chris had been an ass. Viktor is too tired to weigh the facts to see if he’s in the wrong.

“I'm sorry,” Chris says, “I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.”

It's tempting to keep going, to tell him how angry it made Viktor, how _hurt,_ but instead he nods into the phone. “Thank you. Water under the bridge,” he says, even though the burning is still there. Chris apologized. Chris was admitting fault and Viktor doesn't need to drive it in.

They make small talk, Viktor asking after Chris’ programs, but something him darkens when Chris laments the lack of motivation he has without beating Viktor to work toward.

Of course.

“Shouldn't you be getting to practice?” Viktor asks cheerfully.

“You're right,” Chris says, “I'm running late. I'll come visit sometime.”

“I won't be free for a while with the investigations, but let me know the next time you’ll be in Sachima!” Hopefully, a lighthearted tone will distract from the irritation under the surface and if the way Chris says he looks forward to visiting is any indication, it worked. When Viktor hangs up the phone, he drops it onto the cushion next to him to stare out the window at the unusually empty grounds below.

 

“You seem tense,” Viktor says as he comes up behind Yuuri after his post-meetings cup of tea in their rooms.

Pulling his shirt off, Yuuri sighs. “What do you expect?”

He has a point.

“Why don't we go to the baths?”

“Now?” When Yuuri turns, he’s got one eyebrow raised. Viktor glances at his shoulder, just for an instant, but it’s enough to get the image of angry pink scar tissue burned once again into his mind.

“Yes,” he says, meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “We could do with the time off.”

Yuuri glances at the cast still on Viktor’s arm. “You're gonna have to wrap that up.”

“That’s fine, I'm used to it.” Really, Viktor just wants a quiet moment with his fiancé, and holing up in their rooms is getting old. Yuuri clearly wants the same, is dying to have a second to breathe, but he’s tense. He’s worried, he’s scared, and Viktor knows his anxiety’s telling him if he isn’t devoting every second to work and the investigation, he may as well not be doing anything.

Moving in front of his fiancé, Viktor cups his cheeks, careful not to let the cast dig in. “Taking a moment isn’t the end of the world,” he says. “There’s nothing we can do tonight, Lyubov. Not about the investigations, and not about Hana.”

Casting his eyes downward, Yuuri nods. Viktor presses his lips to his brow, rests their foreheads together. “Solnyshko moyo, let’s go enjoy the springs, yes? They’ll at least help your muscles, you're _very_ tense and I can't give you a massage.”

“Ok.” It comes out a whisper, Yuuri closing his eyes for a moment as he takes a breath.

 

It takes Yuuri’s help to get cleaned up and put the suction bag over the cast to so Viktor can go in the water, but he does it gladly. His fingers trace over the shallow scars on Viktor’s upper thigh and hip. They don't hurt at all, barely ever did next to his ribs and arm, but they stand out— a stark, angry red against the milky-white of Viktor’s skin. They look far worse than they ever were, the wounds on Yuuri’s arm and leg were of far more consequence, but Yuuri seems to regret even them.

Viktor thinks he got off easy, as far as scarring goes. The wound on Yuuri’s chest is still vibrant and healing, the scars on his arm are mostly healed, but are still there, still red, still peppered across his forearm as evidence he’d managed to fend off a knife attack. On his leg is just one, the puncture wound in his outer thigh, but Viktor knows it still aches when Yuuri does a lot of running. It may never stop, and Viktor wants to kneel, to press his lips to the scar and ease Yuuri’s pain with a kiss.

That would be too painful, still, so he contents himself with brushing his fingertips across, running his hand up Yuuri’s side to pull him close. The kiss they share is somehow more tender than Viktor expects. They’ve shared many since their return to Hasetsu, and most of those have been their usual ‘I love you’s, but still, a month after the attack, there are times they just need to remind themselves they made it through.

“I’m okay, Vityusha,” Yuuri says, soft and gentle and doing his best to reassure. He understands. Sometimes Viktor comforts him in the same way, and though it's less frequent than just after they’d gotten back, it's often enough that even Yuuri’s family sees it for what it is and gives them their space.

“I know,” Viktor says like he normally does. Yuuri nods and kisses him, moving to go outside.

The water is warm, the heat melting the tension like butter. Viktor keeps his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders as they soak. Yuuri rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder, eyes closed as he does his best to relax.

“Is this okay?” Yuuri murmurs. “Not hurting?”

“Not at all, Lyubov,” Viktor answers. “My chest aches, but not because of you.”

Yuuri nods, biting his lower lip. Pulling him closer, Viktor kisses the top of his head. “I was thinking a snowflake,” he says, “for the inside of the rings.”

“A snowflake?”

“Yeah, like the necklaces.”

Humming, Yuuri nods. “I mostly chose them because we got engaged in winter. And I could pass it off as a cheesy reference to you being a figure skater.”

Chuckling, Viktor kisses him again. “Well it's become something special. Is it okay with you?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, “you're designing them.”

“I don't want to design something you're gonna hate.”

“I don't think I _could_ hate something you designed,” he says. It startles Viktor more than it should. He’s used to Yakov, and to some extent Lilia, having some sort of criticism for him, big or small. In thanks, he kisses Yuuri. Yuuri looks up, smiling and _happy,_ and Viktor feels compelled to kiss him again, this time on the lips.

“What if they were gaudy?” Viktor asks, grinning.

“They’re going to be identical,” Yuuri says, “and you won't wear something gaudy. I know you.”

“I might.”

Yuuri snorts. “You won’t.”

“I don't know, I'm about to be royalty. Doesn't that mean I ought to be flashy?”

“Have _I_ ever been flashy?” Mischievous, Yuuri’s smile still warms Viktor’s heart. “Anyway, I said you wouldn't wear _gaudy._ We both know you're flashy; I've seen the costumes you designed.”

Viktor laughs, joyful and happy and he can't _not_ wrap his arms around the love of his life. “Don't worry,” Viktor says, “the jeweller is making sure it's within guidelines. Gold bands. And silver, for some reason.”

“If we're at an event with silver crowns we need to match,” Yuuri explains, “but they don't want us wearing them as often so they don't tarnish, I'd imagine.”

“Mmm, that makes sense. I was thinking no gemstones but do we want our names?”

“We could be really cheesy,” Yuuri laughs, “and have ‘Stammi Vicino’ in one, and ‘Non Te Andare’ in the other.”

“Really?” Viktor asks, almost in awe.

Yuuri blushes. “I mean, it was... You were skating it when we got together and—”

“And I skated it for you,” Viktor says, liking the idea more and more. Sighing happily, Yuuri nods. “You know, I choreographed _Eros_ with you in mind.”

With a cough, Yuuri blushes and looks at the water. “It's a very nice routine,” he says. “I like it. A lot.”

“I hope I can skate it in competition.”

“What are you thinking with regards to costuming?” Yuuri asks. “The tailor is still working on your Akitsushiman wardrobe, but I'm sure they can meet with you soon.”

“I'll be working with a tailor in Russia, actually,” Viktor says. “He’s a friend of my mom’s and has been designing my costumes for years, now.”

“Ahh, well, let accounting know how much it’s going to cost, then,” Yuuri responds.

“I've got it,” Viktor says. “I have the money, I can take care of the things I need for my own career.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, “sorry, I just know they can get expensive and I honestly have no idea how much money you have.”

“More than enough,” Viktor replies. “If Russia wasn't funding me I would still be able to take care of blades and boots and rink time and such.”

“Ahh. My apologies.”

Viktor kisses him again. “You were trying to be nice, you don't have to apologize for that.”

Yuuri merely nods, likely to keep from apologizing again, and presses a kiss to Viktor’s jawbone. “Do you have ideas?”

“Something sultry and sexy for you, maybe,” Viktor jokes. “A cocktail dress?”

Laughter bubbles out of Yuuri’s chest as he turns towards Viktor, kissing him on the cheek. “Have fun with ice burn.”

“I’d wear tights. I have some for ballet.”

Yuuri snorts. “Seriously, though.”

“Mmm the song has a flamenco sort of feel, so maybe something along those lines,” Viktor muses. “I don't know yet. We're still not sure I'll be able to compete without issue.”

In lieu of apologizing, Yuuri just kisses Viktor’s shoulder. “You know,” he says, “it's probably good the wedding is so far off. You'll still be _Viktor Nikiforov_ next season as opposed to… _my husband._ King-Consort. If you end up able to compete. You're absolutely sure you still want to?”

Viktor wants to shrug. Wants to say he doesn’t know, to tell Yuuri that it seems terrifyingly daunting to get back in shape when he can still barely run for more than a minute or two without ending up clutching one sort of garden feature or another while he does his best to ride out the pain. He’s improving, and more quickly now that the breaks are mostly healed, but he’s still so far from the ten-mile runs he used to go on when he was bored.

Jumping on figure skates seems impossible, let alone with four rotations, and a long-forgotten voice flits through the back of his mind.

_You're nothing without your jumps._

“Vitya?”

“Mm? Sorry, I was thinking!” Kissing the top of Yuuri’s head, he sighs and leans back, ignoring the momentary protest from his ribs. “I want to finish out the season if I can,” he says, hiding new uncertainty in a jovial tone. “I was planning to retire after as it was, but if I can at least make it to Worlds, that would be nice.”

Yuuri hums in agreement. “Did they tell you about the visit to the Hasetsu Royal Hospital next week?”

“Grand opening?” Viktor asks.

“Re-opening,” Yuuri corrects. “They shut down for a few years for some massive renovations, they’ve been the forerunner in medicine and medical research here for like eight hundred years now?”

“Ah, yes,” Viktor says. “Minako mentioned something about it.”

Yuuri nods. “Are you going to be up to it?”

“It's already on my schedule, I'll be fine.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, “I am.”

There’s a long pause before Yuuri nods. “Alright. Okay. Cool.”

Snorting, Viktor pulls his fiancé closer. “Best to get back in the swing of things as best we can, don't you think?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, probably. It's still hard to believe you're okay with all of this.”

Viktor looks him in the eye. “Is it though?”

Yuuri looks up for a moment, almost dumbfounded, and Viktor smiles. “It's been just over a month since the attack, Lyubov. Almost eight since I found out.”

With a sigh, Yuuri nods, a disbelieving smile playing at his lips. “You're right,” he says. “Sorry, it's just- The anxiety and all. It… I can't always make myself believe you're staying. It's… I'm not sitting here trying to convince myself you're going to _leave.”_

Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, Viktor pulls him close again. “I don't mind reassuring you. Just…” Viktor sighs. “My last serious relationship was shitty. _Really_ shitty. After that, everyone sort of… assumed I couldn't make my own decisions. In a lot of stuff, but especially relationships.” He doesn't mention the depressive episode he’d had, the near-fortnight he’d spent in bed curled around Makkachin.

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “I apologize, I don't mean to imply you can’t.”

“I know,” Viktor says. “Still.”

Letting out a long breath, Yuuri nods. “I'll try,” he says. “Or at least I'll try to phrase it differently.”

There’s a part of Viktor that’s surprised, that expected Yuuri to be upset that Viktor hadn't mentioned this before, but he knows Viktor keeps things close to the vest. He knows Viktor’s been used, knows Viktor’s been hurt before and understands, but Viktor can’t keep himself from feeling like it’s a betrayal of sorts. Under the water, Yuuri’s arm snakes around his waist.

“I'm getting sleepy,” Yuuri murmurs, “we should go inside.”

“We can cuddle,” Viktor says.

“That sounds really nice, actually,” Yuuri replies, standing and holding out his hand. Taking it, Viktor pulls himself up with only a slight wince.

 

Hours later, Yuuri is sound asleep and Viktor is staring through the dark at the shine of metalwork on the ceiling. The moon outside is full, bright, and if Yuuri wasn’t curled around Viktor he’d probably be out on the balcony. As it is, Viktor sighs. He can feel it. The creeping tendrils of a depressive episode and he’d hoped above everything that it wasn’t one. Almost a month and a half of mostly sitting around and going to meetings and standing with Yuuri and defending his relationship…

Without the ice, without the training, without the myriad of appearances, without a _purpose,_ Viktor feels, frankly, useless.

He’s _not,_ he knows, but the Palace is still hesitant to send him out to too many events, especially without Yuuri, and with Yuuri leading the country, he can't attend many to begin with. Aside from that, Viktor doesn’t have much he can contribute to the investigation outside of the statements he’s already given, he’s still largely unfamiliar with the intricacies of Akitsushima’s noble class, and it seems, sometimes, like he’s never going to be the future husband Yuuri needs.

Or wants.

While they were still hiding, still under threat, it was easy for Viktor to tell himself he only felt inadequate because he wasn’t allowed to be Yuuri’s fiancé publically. Right after the injury, he had a reasonable explanation for his lack of doing anything, but now that he’s able to walk around without issue, able to move with far less pain than before, and yet still unable to do so much… it’s grating on him, it’s getting to him, and he can’t wait to be able to get back on the ice and skate his feelings away. Once he can focus on his program and get back into a routine with his royal duties, he’s sure he’ll feel better.

He _hopes_ he’ll feel better.

The numbness spreading through him feels uncomfortably like it did before he moved to Detroit, and despite the pain he knows he’ll be in, Viktor rolls on his side. It’s a mistake, and he bites back a hiss before letting himself roll back, staring once more at the ceiling.

There’s no telling how long he spends tracing lines of metalwork with his eyes, doing his best to empty his mind because even long hours devoid of thought are better than thinking too much. There’s no way of knowing how long it takes him to eventually succumb to sleep, but when he does it’s fitful and doesn’t do anything as far as lessening the perpetual exhaustion settling slowly in his bones.

 

~*~

 

“Your x-rays are good,” the doctor says, putting them on the light board. “Your ribs are definitely healing well, and we’ll probably be able to take the cast off in a week, maybe less.”

“A week?” Viktor asks. “When is it you’ll be making the brace?”

“It’ll take another week or two to make the braces. We’ll start first with the everyday, for when you’re allowed to start doing some light jogging and such, and the high-impact brace will take just a bit longer but will be ready by the time you’re ready to start skating again, sir.”

Nodding, Viktor resigns himself to another agonizing week of dealing with an itchy cast. He’s so ready for it to come off. “I'll be wearing them when exercising?”

“Doing anything that puts strain on your wrist.”

“Understood.”

“The high-impact brace should be worn whenever you're skating, or on the ice in general. I’d go ahead and say during any intense activity, jogging or running included, in the interest of preventing another break before you compete.”

“Better too careful,” Viktor muses.

“Only in that respect. Otherwise, you need to get your wrist used to bearing weight again,” the nurse says. “Use the braces when you’re putting excessive strain on your wrist or doing activity that could result in a fall. In your day-to-day life you should be fine without.”

Viktor nods. The nurse runs through his physical therapy stuff again, giving him an idea of what to expect over the next few weeks as he starts working towards training. It’s a lot, and it’s going to be somewhat painful, especially with his ribs, but… it’ll be worth it, he thinks, to make a comeback.

He hopes it’ll be worth it, hopes he won’t end up gasping in pain on the ice, humiliated because he dared to think he was capable. He’s left with instructions about what’ll happen when they take off the cast, how to keep from scratching his skin off in the interim, and more painkillers for those times when the dull ache becomes gripping agony.

They’re just finishing up when Mari walks in unannounced. “Vitya I need you to come with me,” she says urgently. Viktor nods, grabbing the meds and sticking them in his pocket before shaking the nurse’s hand and following Mari out.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor asks. “Is Yuuri okay?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “We can’t find him. I checked the passages, but I’m hesitant to send people to look for him in case it’s anxiety. He’s likely to… I don’t think he’d be happy if he’s approached by staff and with how jumpy he already is…”

Viktor nods. “You’re right. I can look, I’ll go check the gardens first, we have a few spots we used to stop at for runs. Is Makkachin with him?”

Grateful that Mari responds with a nod, Viktor takes off at a brisk walk towards some of their favorite spots. There aren’t many that are secluded, and Yuuri does like hiding, if the closet in Detroit’s ice rink is any indication, so Viktor goes to the first that comes to mind: near the pond, where they’d gone during the photo shoot. They’d kept coming back, and had grown to enjoy taking a few minutes to watch the fish each time they’d gone for a run.

Sure enough, when Viktor gets there Yuuri’s sitting hunched over on the stone bench with his back to Vikor, his crown set next to him as he holds his head in his hands. For a moment the breeze dies down, the rustling of the trees a mere whisper, and Yuuri’s almost desperate gasps can be heard clearly from where Viktor stands. Makka sees Viktor and whines, but doesn’t move from his place leaning against Yuuri.

Yuuri does move, though. Jerking around, his eyes widen for a moment before he sees Viktor, at which point his lower lip starts trembling and the anxiety eases back into the lines of his body. Walking over, Viktor leans down and sets the crown to the side before sitting down next to his fiancé and wrapping one arm around him.

“I’m going to tell your sister I found you, is that alright? I won’t tell her where.”

Yuuri nods. Once Mari’s been alerted, Viktor pulls Yuuri just a bit closer, feeling better as Yuuri settles into him. The koi swim around the pond, shimmering gold and white and black in the clear water as the wind whispers through the trees. Strained breaths and hitched sobs ease into the occasional hiccup and shaky sigh as Yuuri calms some. Eventually Viktor feels arms around his waist as Yuuri turns to bury his face in Viktor’s neck. Viktor rubs his back.

Hot breath against his skin is the only indication Viktor has that his fiancé is talking, and when he makes a confused noise Yuuri pulls away, rubbing at his face.

“They found an unregistered gun in Nee-chan’s luggage,” he says softly. “It’s… it’s taken them a while to run everything through their system what with trying to figure out the phone situation and it was the standard guard model so it wasn’t… suspicious, but they just got the results back and— they can’t prove it’s hers, there aren’t fingerprints on it but…”

“It was probably planted, then,” Viktor says with surety. “Unregistered and not handled at all? She wouldn’t have bothered wiping it down if it was in her personal effects.”

Yuuri lets out a long, shaky breath, nodding. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what exactly the root of the anxiety is, but here… here, it’s easy to see. It’s the what-ifs he can’t keep from scurrying around in his head, gnawing at the foundations of his trust in Hana until it’s buckling under the weight of implication.

What if she knew. What if she was involved.

What if she was waiting to pull the trigger.

With everything the nobility has been going on about, the mixed opinions they’ve been offering as solutions to this debacle, it’s not hard to see how Yuuri’s faith in his adopted sister could be buried under the bullshit he’s being hit with. Especially without Hana around to help dig it out.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “Hana had opportunities to kill you easily. She still had them even just before we left. She wouldn’t be on their side. She’d never work against you, you know that.”

Nodding into Viktor’s chest, Yuuri does his best to steady his breathing further.

“She loves me,” he whispers.

“Very much so,” Viktor agrees.

“She always has.”

“Yep. Remember you told me she was nicest to you when you were young?”

“I do,” Yuuri says. “She always talked to me like I was a person. She was respectful, but never forgot I was a kid.” He takes a deep breath. “She fought the Palace for me, she’d never hurt me.”

“No,” Viktor says, “she wouldn’t. She’s kept you safe.”

“She kept me safe,” Yuuri whispers. “She kept me _safe.”_

More calm than he had been, with a renewed sense of surety, Yuuri manages to pull himself the rest of the way together. At least, enough to walk back inside. He calls Mari on the way, reassures her that he’s fine and is going to go take his meds and nap, and she promises to relay the message to the kitchens that Yuuri’ll need something sent up that can be reheated well when he wakes.

 

~*~

 

**From: Gosha  
<<< We’re coming to Hasetsu. **

**To: Gosha:  
>>> What? We? **

**From: Gosha  
<<< Yuratchka and I. He wanted to come see you. He’s been worried, I think.**

**To: Gosha  
>>> Oh? **

**From: Gosha**  
 ** <<< I talked Yakov into letting us have a few days off.**  
 ** <<< Yura won't tell me what’s up. Just keeps saying he’s mad and you owe him an explanation**.

 

Viktor sighs. Yuri’s right, though.

 

**To: Gosha  
>>> I do. About the attack. I suppose I owe you, too? **

**From: Gosha  
<<< No. You know that. **

**To: Gosha  
>>> When will you be out? **

**From: Gosha**  
**< << About thirteen hours.**  
 ** <<< We're at Pulkovo right now.**  
 ** <<< Plane’s about to board.**

 

Viktor sighs, making his way down the hall. There are the usual guards outside Yuuri's office, and they wave Viktor in. He knocks the pattern they’d come up with, entering when Yuuri calls out for him to do so.

Yuuri is focused on his computer, clicking furiously as he types with his left hand.

“Yuuri, I need to check something with you.”

“Mmm, yeah, in a sec.” Leaning forward, he bites his lip and frowns at whatever it is.

“Working hard?” Viktor asks.

“I'm doing some _work,”_ Yuuri replies, clicking rapidly for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, Viktor crosses his arms.

“Are you playing video games?”

“One… second…” Fingers moving furiously, Yuuri leans closer to the monitor.

At this point, Viktor walks around the large wooden desk, moving to stand behind his fiancé. On screen is indeed a fantasy video game, a fighter wielding dual blades with finesse against some much larger opponent while magic flies around.

“Seriously, Yuuri?”

“I need the loot this guy drops. Shhhh.” It’s only a minute or so more before whatever Yuuri was fighting crumples to the ground, dissolving in a mess of green. Leaning forward, Viktor kisses the nape of his neck.

“Gosha and Yura are coming out.”

“When?” Yuuri’s looking at a map, now, selecting something before a loading screen pops up.

“Bit over twelve hours,” Viktor says. “I get the impression Yura would visit with or without Georgi.”

“At least he warned us, this time.”

When Viktor presses another kiss to his neck, Yuuri shivers. “Gosha warned us,” Viktor corrects.

“Of course,” Yuuri says. “Did you tell the staff to prepare the bedrooms and such?”

“I thought you’d need to,” Viktor says.

Yuuri frowns. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“I'm not…” Pursing his lips, Viktor tries to figure out how to remind Yuuri that they aren't married yet.

“Important enough?”

Viktor nods.

Gently, Yuuri smiles. “You _are,_ though,” he says. “You realize in terms of stuff like this, you have the same clout as Mari now, right? She could have a last-minute guest or ten and have them accommodated without question. It's the same for you. They shouldn't give you any trouble but if you want me to do it still, I can.”

“It looks better if I'm not always making requests through you, yeah?”

Yuuri’s turn to nod now. “You know, my mother takes care of a lot of this kind of stuff.”

 _You know this will be your job in the future,_ he means, and Viktor nods in agreement. “I'll go make the request then.”

Dipping into the study, Viktor pulls out his phone and finds the appropriate number for hospitality. They answer promptly, listen to his request and agree to have the rooms closest to Viktor and Yuuri’s prepared by the time Georgi and Yuri arrive. They ask if he needs anything else, wish him a good evening when he declines, and as he’s hanging up, Yuuri’s arms snake around his waist. He doesn't pull Viktor close, ever mindful of his ribs, but he does press a kiss to the skin just behind Viktor’s ear.

“No issues with the staff?”

“None.”

With a satisfied hum, Yuuri presses another kiss to Viktor’s shoulder.

“They shouldn't stay long, Vitya,” he cautions. “We can’t afford a repeat of the last time Yura was out here. There’s too much to do, and with all the upheaval I don't want them caught up in Palace bullshit.”

“I'll make sure they know,” Viktor says. “Do you think your mother will make katsudon? I know Yura’s fond of it.”

“I'm sure she will if we ask,” Yuuri responds.

 

~*~

 

The black sedan pulls up next to the staircase to the back terrace. Viktor stands alone, Yuuri being in a meeting, and behind him are several attendants, waiting to unload the car. Yuri scowls into the sun when he gets out, moving aside to let Georgi out after him. Standing tall, Georgi first smiles at Viktor, glancing at the cast before meeting his eyes.

“Viktor,” Georgi says, “it's good to see you!” Pressing a succulent into Viktor’s good hand, he claps him on the back. “You're looking considerably better than Yakov led us to believe. He said you've been languishing.”

“I have two broken ribs, I don't know what he expects.”

“And your arm?”

“Wrist fracture. I had some cuts on my hip but they took the glass out before I left Russia and I'm healed up.” For a second, it seems like Georgi wants to keep asking questions, but instead he nods. There are too many people present for his prying to go unnoticed, and he. He doesn't look exactly sure about how he ought to be treating Viktor, but he sticks to genial formality.

“How’s Makkachin?” Georgi asks.

“Doing well! He stayed inside with Yuuri.” It's strange being able to use Yuuri’s name, but as Hiroko and Mari are permitted such leeway in the more private aspects of palace life, so is Viktor. Sometimes it feels strange to remember Yuuri was once just Yuuri, as far as Viktor was concerned. Detroit feels so _very_ long ago.

“Ahh, and how _is_ the love of your life?”

“He’s recovering too,” Viktor answers.

Yuri stops staring at whatever fountain had caught his interest. “How badly was _he_ hurt?”

“I'll explain inside,” Viktor says.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” an attendant says, “the luggage has been unloaded.”

Viktor nods. “Thank you.”

“Shall I have the plant taken to the greenhouse?”

“The sitting room off my bedroom, actually, if you would,” Viktor says, handing it over.

“Of course, sir,” she says. “Mr. Popovich, welcome to Hasetsu. Mr. Plisetsky, welcome back.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “Thanks.”

“Well,” Viktor exclaims with a clap of his hands, “we should go inside. Gosha, you can meet my future in-laws.” Turning to walk in, he stops when Georgi hesitates.

“They’ll take your things to your rooms,” Viktor says.

Nodding, Georgi moves to follow Viktor and Yuuri into the back entrance of the Palace.

 

“Are you doing well, Viktor?” Georgi asks in Russian as they walk through the halls.

“Yeah,” Viktor replies. Every time they pass a set of guards, Georgi’s eyes flick to them, watching as they bow to Viktor when he passes. Viktor’s barely managed to stop being startled, to start expecting to see staff deferring to him consistently. It must be hard for Yuri as well, and once they get into the parlor where Yuuri will be meeting them, Viktor, for the first time, instructs the guards that Georgi and Yuri are to be allowed to address him as they please.

“I can deal with it if I have a problem with them. Unless I say otherwise, assume I’m fine with things.”

They bow, saying “yes, sir,” in unison, before going to stand outside the door.

“So they’re bowing to you and shit now, too?” Yuri asks as they wait.

“Yes,” Viktor responds. “Propriety requires they do, I'm their king’s fiancé.”

“Are we supposed to?”

Viktor looks at his little cousin. “I don’t know,” he says. “Probably, in some situations but I’m not going to ask you to unless I have to.”

“Even if I’m family?” Viktor glances at Georgi, who merely shrugs. Yuri sighs. “I fuckin’… he asked how I planned to get into this place and I told him. You're not gonna say shit, right?” Scowling at Georgi, Yuri does his best to look intimidating. Georgi just chuckles.

“Not if you don't want me to,” he says.

Yuri huffs, though he’s obviously relieved.

“Well, I'm sure Yuuri will enjoy having you,” Viktor says cheerfully, “though I don't know how long we can have you here.”

 _“We?”_ Yura scoffs. “Like you’re—”

“Yes, ‘we’,” Viktor interrupts. “For all intents and purposes, I'm another member of the Royal Family now, so. _We.”_

Georgi looks around the parlor, eyes flitting across the strong timber, the elegant paintings, the gilded decor as if searching for something. Taking everything in. Viktor remembers his arrival, remembers how huge and impressively ornate it is when it's not yet familiar. Even when it is.

A guard steps in. “Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess.”

“Vitya!” Mari walks over, taking a seat at the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Viktor says with a nod.

“It’s good to see you again, Yurio,” Mari says, smiling at the teen.

“Hey, Your Highness,” Yuri mutters.

“Mari,” Viktor says, gesturing at Georgi, “this is my rinkmate.”

“Mr. Popovich, correct?”

“Indeed,” Georgi says, bowing his head. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“And yourself,” she replies, holding out her hand. “Crown Princess Mari of Akitsushima. I'm Yuuri’s big sister. My brother’s spoken highly of you.”

Shaking it, Georgi smiles and nods again. His manners are good, as Viktor expected. Lilia is rigorous in her training, insisting they ought to be able to meet most anyone without making a fool of themselves. She likely ran through protocol before Viktor and Yuuri had showed up at Yubileyney, in case the Akitsushiman Palace had demanded formality. Before the assassination attempt, they’d had plans to have dinner with the rest of the Russian skaters that trained under Yakov but those plans had, obviously, been set aside.

“Vitya has arranged for your rooms to be set up,” Mari continues. “Yurio, you'll be in the same rooms as before. Mr. Popovich, we’ll make sure you're shown to your rooms when you’re ready. They’ll be close to both Yurio’s and Vitya and Yuuri’s for convenience.”

“Gosha needs access to the maps,” Viktor says. “Is that something we can do?”

“Of course,” Mari says. “Mr. Popovich, we’ll get you set up with a permanent log-in for our app. It has maps of the Palace and grounds, and anything you're scheduled to do with my brother or Viktor will be in there as well.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Georgi says.

“‘Mari’ is fine in private, and I imagine being less formal with Vitya would put everyone at ease.” Viktor and his rink mates nod in unison, bringing a smile to Mari’s face. “As it is, my brother will be here soon and will likely drop most or all propriety.”

Right on time, the door opens and a guard enters again. “His Majesty the King and Makkachin.”

“Why are they announcing your dog?” Yuri whispers as they all stand.

Viktor shrugs, but greets his fiancé with a kiss.

“Why are they announcing Makkachin?” he asks Yuuri.

“I dunno,” Yuuri says, taking his seat.

“You don't remember?” Mari’s frowning slightly now as she looks at her brother. “When you got Vicchan, you said he was the Royal Dog and asked that he be announced when entering a room with you. It became policy.”

Yuri snorts. “Seriously?”

“I was _six,”_ Yuuri protests.

“Vitya said your mother calls _him_ Vicchan,” Georgi points out.

“Well _sometimes_ you coincidentally give your dog the same name as the man you eventually fall in love with.” The tips of Yuuri’s ears are endearingly pink, and Viktor leans over to kiss one.

“I can tell the staff it’s unnecessary if you like,” Mari offers. Yuuri nods, flushed bright red. Turning to Georgi and Yuri, he smiles.

“Anyway, welcome to Hasetsu. It's good to see both of you again.”

Breakfast is served shortly, attendants coming in with bowls of rice and a nice tofu and vegetable dish Viktor hadn’t realized he’d missed without the kitchens accommodating his training meal plan. Served individually, everyone ends up with a small assortment of dishes at their place. Chopsticks are the last to be set down, followed by forks for Yuri and Georgi to avoid the awkwardness of having to ask. Georgi, well-traveled as he is, picks up the chopsticks and gets them situated with only the slightest bit of unsurety.

Yuri picks up his own chopsticks, surprisingly, and gets to work on his own food.

“You’ve figured out how to eat, I see,” Mari comments.

“You _haven’t_ figured out how to stop being annoying,” Yuri bites back, shoving a piece of tofu in his mouth.

“He’s so sweet,” Mari says to Yuuri.

“Isn’t he, though?” Yuuri replies, eyes twinkling as he deftly picks bean sprouts out of his food and shoves them in his mouth. “Where’s mom?”

“Minako-sensei is here, they’re having breakfast in her rooms,” Mari answers. “My bet is they’re talking about their school days again. She’ll be here for lunch and such, though.”

“Are you talking about Ms. Okukawa?” Georgi asks.

“We are!” Mari looks excited. “Have you met her?”

“I have, on occasion. Not much, but she was in Russia a year or two ago and came by the rink.”

“Oh yeah,” Yuuri murmurs. “I remember she left Detroit for a bit a few times to go to Europe, see some friends. Madame Lilia’s the one who tipped us off to dad not being well, you know.”

“What?” Viktor looks at his fiancé, and Yuuri shrugs.

“She’s out here enough, and she noticed he didn’t seem like he was doing so great and mentioned it to Minako-sensei, who then mentioned it to me and Hana-nee, and we decided to start working harder to prepare me to rule.”

“Did Lilia know?” Georgi asks.

“Depends on when,” Yuuri answers, “I… no, not at that point. She had no idea _Minako-sensei_ even knew where I was, as far as I knew she figured Minako-sensei moved to the States for a change of pace. It was just them talking about stuff rather than Madame Lilia actually trying to get information to us or something. She knew when I went to Nationals, though.”

“How did she even find out?” Mari asks. “You said you’d never told anyone.”

“I didn’t! She saw that scar from the goose bite, she was there when I got it, remember? She recognized that!” Pouring sauce on his tofu, Yuuri scowls at his sister. “I never told anyone, Mari. Not unless they already knew.”

“Slip-ups happen,” Mari says, and Yuuri’s face darkens further.

“Once. _One_ slip-up happened _one time,_ and it wasn’t even any sort of confirmation. It was ‘this teacher may somehow figure it out’. Believe me, I learned my lesson after that, it didn’t happen again.” He digs into his meal, a silent request for his sister to drop the subject. Curiosity is all Viktor sees in Mari, a desire to know more about what happened, why the memory seems, still, to be so painful, but she just looks back at Georgi.

“Well. Mr. Popovich—”

“‘Georgi’ is fine, Mari.” There’s a teasing glint in his eye that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone at the table.

Clearly unused to being interrupted, much less corrected, Mari sits in stunned silence until Yuuri snorts, at which point she clears her throat.

“Georgi, then. Do you two have any plans for your stay?”

“We mostly wanted to see Vitya,” he says. “How he’s doing, how Yuuri’s doing after the attack. Also to congratulate them on their engagement. I brought a succulent.”

No mention is made of the fact that he’s mostly here to babysit Yuri and make sure he gets back to Russia in time to train for his senior debut. It doesn’t escape the teenager’s notice that he said nothing, and somewhere in his scowl Yuri looks grateful.

 

After they eat, Yuuri and Mari head back to work. Viktor takes Georgi and Yuri into the private gardens, asking guards to ensure no one interrupts them.

“Is Yakov angry?” Viktor asks in Russian.

Yuri scoffs. “He’s fucking pissed.”

“He’s not,” Georgi says. “He’s more worried than actually angry.” Having had much more experience with Yakov, Georgi is likely to know best, so that’s who Viktor believes. Georgi walks over to a blooming tree, examining the flowers with interest. “Lilia is surprisingly upset, though.”

Viktor frowns. “Lilia?”

“Mhmm. She’s been awkwardly nice about things. What did you say to her? I saw you fighting. What happened?”

Shrugging, Viktor crosses his arms. “I don't remember, honestly, it was probably something petty. Right after was the attack, and ever since then it’s been a mess. I was on pain meds for weeks.”

Slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication Georgi doesn't believe him, having lived with Viktor enough to have some idea of when he’s not being entirely truthful. He’s not as good as Yuuri is, never has been, but he knows enough that Viktor resigns himself to dealing with his gentle prodding later.

Sighing, Viktor looks at his little cousin. “I owe you an explanation.”

“Yeah.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of the sweater he insists on wearing despite the late summer heat, Yuri flops onto a nearby bench and stares at the ground.

“I can't tell you everything, since the investigation is ongoing, but I _can_ tell you what happened leading up to the attack in St. Petersburg.”

He does. He starts with the secret engagement and Yuuri’s work to modernize the government of a country that had killed his grandfather for the same. That had tried to kill _him,_ and had sent him into hiding. He talks about Takeda’s threats, the constant insinuations by the nobility that he isn't good enough, and the bombshell dropped at the ball that sent them into a panic. When he gets to Yuuri being drugged, Yuri’s eyes grow wide, and his attention is laser focused as Viktor finishes with the attempt and waking up to the world knowing everything.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he repeats. “None of it, it was a matter of security.”

“But how did they find out?” Yuri asks. “I didn’t say _shit_ except for… except for the first time, and you _just said_ you never fucking talked about it.”

“We still don’t know. The investigation… it’s not going as well as it could be, we’re still running into a lot of dead ends.”

“Are you still in danger?” Low, Georgi’s voice floats just under the wind as he levels Viktor with an inquisitive look.

“Not as far as I know,” Viktor replies. “Security here is still high, including extra bodyguards when Yuuri and I leave. Any member of the Royal Family, to be honest, but it’s not at high alert levels.”

Georgi nods in response. He’ll ask his questions later, when Yuri isn't around and Viktor knows he can refuse to answer without having instigating even more prying.

 

Sure enough, that night after Yuri takes off, Georgi gives Viktor that look that says he has questions, and Viktor nods, whispering his intentions to Yuuri as they walk back to their rooms. Viktor and Georgi change their clothes, Viktor into old pajama pants and his Team Russia t-shirt with fuzzy socks and equally fuzzy open-toed slippers. When Viktor meets Georgi at his door, he’s holding a six-pack of beer.

“Where’d you get that?” Viktor asks.

“I asked your driver to stop on the way here.”

Nodding, Viktor gestures for Georgi to follow. Part of him wants to go to Yuuri’s sitting room off the working office, where there’s a nice window seat and a view of the grounds, but he refrains. He won’t go to the Garden Parlor either, that’s for tea tomorrow so Georgi can see the plants in all their glory. No, instead he takes Georgi outside to the back steps, where they sit on a bench and lean on the stone railing of the terrace as they look out into the starry night. They can see the ocean from where they are, a glittering void in the dark. Georgi opens two of the bottles, handing one over to Viktor, and they drink as they look out across the grounds.

“Who’d have thought we’d end up here, way back when we shared the dorm?”

Viktor shrugs. “No one, I’d think.”

“You seem content, here,” Georgi notes.

“I am,” Viktor says.

“Are you safe?”

“As much as I can be,” Viktor replies.

“The fight?”

It’s no surprise Georgi is concerned about Viktor fighting with their long-time mentor. Sighing, Viktor takes a few swigs of beer, holding the bottle in both hands as he stares at a distant fountain. “I told her if she doesn’t knock off that obsession with beauty, she’d end up destroying someone.”

“And you didn’t want that someone to be your little cousin?” He asks.

“I didn’t want that someone to be _anyone,”_ Viktor says. “She needs to take care of her students. I was worried about Yura well before I knew we were related.”

“What did she do to _you?”_

Instead of answering, Viktor drains his beer, holding his hand out for another. Georgi hands him the bottle opener with the beer, and sips his own.

“It's not like she actually _did_ anything,” Viktor says after popping the top off and taking a swig. “She just. Did her thing. Ignored how I felt about it. You saw all the arguments when were teens.” He’d seen them slow, then stop as Viktor came into his own.

Georgi nods. Something in his expression tells Viktor that he gets it more than he’s letting on, that he knows, somehow, that Viktor only felt like an exquisitely polished stepping stone to prestige as far as their teacher was concerned. He must understand, too, that Lilia’s chronic disinterest in her students mixed very badly with Viktor’s people-pleasing tendencies and determination to be the best he can.

“Are things better now?” Georgi finishes his beer and opens another.

“I guess,” Viktor says. “I don't know, Yakov interrupted us and I had to leave.”

“Ah. Has she talked to you since?”

“Two emails, once right after the attack saying get well soon, the second a few weeks ago asking how recovery is going.”

“Hmmm.” Thoughtful, Georgi takes another sip of his beer. Lilia could be concerned, or she could just want to know when her prizewinning skater will be back. _If_ he’ll be back.

“How are things with Anya?” Viktor asks, tired of talking about himself.

Georgi chuckles, takes a large gulp of beer, and shakes his head. “Done. Over. She, uh, couldn't deal with my enthusiasm.”

“Too many dates?”

“Too many flowers. We saw each other less and less so I sent more and more. Invited her to see the programs I'm doing next season. We both love Sleeping Beauty, so that's what I did. She came, watched, asked why I'd ruin one of her favorite fairy tales like that, told me I was a creep, and dumped me.” It's his turn to chug the beer, and Viktor can see the raw pain in his eyes. “I don't have time to re-do my programs.”

A season with programs made as a gesture of love to his now-ex. It'll be rough, especially with how absorbed in the emotion as Georgi lets himself get during performances of any sort.

“Come on,” Viktor says, standing, “we have vodka in the kitchens. The head chef is Russian, so you know it’s authentic.”

“You can just get alcohol?”

Viktor shrugs. “Probably. Elena Andreyevna’s not going to begrudge us a bottle or two of the good stuff.”

“A bottle or _two?”_

“Russian hospitality.”

Laughing, Georgi nods and stands up, following Viktor into the Palace.

 

~*~

 

Gently rubbing his newly-free arm, Viktor makes his way up the stairs in the residential area, exiting into the upper landing into a well-lit hallway. Windows along the length of it overlook the grounds and the city below, stretching around them into the crevices of the surrounding mountains and out to shimmering coastline. He’s sure he’d appreciate it more if he wasn't still a bit hungover. Just as he starts wondering where to find Georgi and Yuri, he sees them out on a balcony nearby.

It isn't difficult to find the right door, and Viktor smiles as he steps out to join them. “How was breakfast?”

Georgi smiles. “The Queen was delightful. She did say she missed having you there.”

“Overslept and had an appointment. Did you get to the gym alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “You know some of the guards asked for pictures? Georgi was surprised they knew who he was.”

“So your ID still worked?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says.

“Your cast is missing,” Georgi points out.

“Doctor took the cast off and gave me a brace to wear.”

“Your hand looks weird,” Yuri scoffs.

Viktor sighs. “It’s healed, just… atrophied. I'll build the muscle back soon, though.”

“Congratulations,” Georgi says.

“You still coming back?” Yuri asks.

“I hope so,” Viktor says. “Depends on how training goes. It'll take a couple more months before I can start intensive training, but when I can I'm thinking of going out to Russia for a bit. Or asking Yakov to come out here.”

Yuri scoffs. “If you do, I wanna see.”

“You want to watch me train?”

“I want to watch him be all stuffy.”

Viktor does his best to laugh. “We’ll see, we’ll see. I'm still not allowed to do anything strenuous, so it’s a ways off. So while we wait, did you w—”

“Mr. Nikiforov!” An attendant walks onto the balcony, going into a low bow before addressing him. “Mr. Nikiforov, His Royal Majesty and Their Royal Highnesses request your presence immediately in the Cabinet Room. His Majesty has stressed that it won’t take long, but Mr. Popovich and Mr. Plisetsky will be asked to wait outside. It concerns the investigation, sir.”

Eyes wide, Viktor nods. “Of course, I'll be there right away.”

Looking at his rinkmates has Viktor relieved as they both nod. He takes off, striding into the Palace with purpose. Attendants, footmen, and guards all bow their heads as he passes, opening doors as he approaches. Georgi and Yuri follow.

“Finally figured out how to find shit, huh?” Yuri asks, half-jogging to keep up. He looks at Georgi, smirking. “He got lost last time trying to find one of the gardens.”

“No,” Viktor says.

“Yeah, I found you and you said so.”

“I'd just been threatened and needed an excuse to be in that area,” Viktor retorts.

Yuri looks down, almost immediately falling behind but managing not to miss Viktor’s abrupt turn. Georgi keeps pace well, being almost as tall as Viktor. They reach the area with Government offices, and Yuri and Georgi are waved through when Viktor nods at a guard. Viktor doesn't try to grant them access to the Cabinet Room itself, apologizing as he drops them off in a nearby sitting room, but when he gets inside there’s a flurry of motion and voices.

A guard steps in the room, announcing Viktor above the din, and the room quiets.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, making his way around the table, “it’s Kataoka-san, she’s decided to cooperate!”

“She has?!”

Nodding, Yuuri grabs Viktor’s hand, whispers Viktor’s coffee order to an attendant while requesting more for himself, and gets them both back to their places at the head of the table.

Isamu stands opposite Yuuri, where he usually does when giving a report of this sort, and starts once he has everyone’s attention.

“It is still early yet,” he says. “We don't know how much she’ll be able to tell us or what solid evidence she’ll be able to offer, but she can at least help us find ways to get it.”

“What information do we have pertaining to Kataoka Hana-san?” Yuuri manages to ask in a level tone. The urgency Viktor knows he feels is hidden in the bouncing of one leg under the table, the way the other is pressed to Viktor’s in search of some sort of grounding.

“None, yet, Yuuri-sama, I regret to say, but it seems likely that she is working primarily to help free Hana-san. When she requested audience with the Head Warden, her first inquiry was about whether or not Hana-san was truly incarcerated.”

“She didn't know?” Yuuri asks, frowning.

“It seems not, I'm afraid,” Isamu says.

Looking around the room, Yuuri seems lost in thought, before his eyes narrow. He says nothing, though, instead listening as Isamu details the increased security Atsuko will have as a protected incarcerated witness. Yuuri sips his coffee as he listens. Isamu doesn't take much longer, ending his turn with a plan for another meeting soon. Yuuri calls an official end to things, dismissing the investigative team after thanking them for their work.

“Oji-san,” he says before his uncle finishes putting his paperwork in his bag.

“Yes, Yuuri-sama?”

“I miss our post-work coffee chats,” he says, “and I believe Mari-neechan has never experienced one. I'd like one tonight, if that’s amenable. In my private receiving room.”

“Of course, “ Isamu replies, understanding. Yuuri has observations he wants to share, but doesn't trust someone here.

“Mari-nee, coffee tonight?”

“Sure,” she says, smiling. “Of course.” Viktor can see she knows something’s up, but, regal as ever, she covers it magnificently. She leaves with her uncle, both chatting animatedly about plans to meet Hiroko for tea. After he finishes putting his own papers in his bag, Yuuri hands it to one of his assistants with directions to take it to his work office. They take it with a bow, leaving just Yuuri and Viktor in the room.

“I'm exhausted,” Yuuri says, stretching his arms over his head. “What’re we doing again?”

“Tea, Lyubov,” Viktor says.

“Ahh, with Gosha and Yura.”

“Calling him Gosha, are we?” Viktor holds the door open for his fiancé as they leave, and walks with him to the sitting room.

“I ran into them as I was leaving the gym this morning,” Yuuri says, “they were on their way in. He said it was fine.”

“You're meeting your uncle and sister later,” Viktor says, knowing Yuuri will understand.

Glancing around, Yuuri nods. “I find it fascinating that something like that wouldn't have been known. You’d at least think they’d have mentioned it at some point, for various reasons. Unless it would hurt someone’s cause.”

So he thinks Atsuko may have been kept in the dark intentionally. Viktor nods, taking his hand as they walk.

When they approach the sitting room, a footman moves to the door but Yuuri holds up a hand. “Announcing me isn't necessary, thank you.”

“Yes, Sire,” the footman says as he opens the door, bowing as they walk through.

“Yura, Gosha,” Yuuri says, “I hope the wait wasn't too terrible.”

“Of course not,” Georgi says.

“Nah,” Yuri adds. Strangely contemplative, he keeps staring at the floor until he notices Georgi stand, at which point he follows suit, brushing off his legs.

Viktor smiles at his rinkmates. “Tea?”

“Which parlor?” Yuri asks.

“It's a surprise,” Viktor says, “but you might be able to guess.”

“You have like five hundred parlors here,” Yuri gripes as they head out.

“Forty-three,” Yuuri corrects, “if you don't count the private ones. You've been in this one before.”

“I've been in like ten so it still doesn't fucking help.”

“That’s a seventy-five percent reduction in options, almost.”

Georgi and Viktor fall behind a bit, letting the other two pull ahead as they banter cheerfully. They don't talk, but after the night they spent chatting the silence between them is more comfortable than it's been in years.

“Gosha,” Viktor says as they approach, “close your eyes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Yuri scoffs.

Yuuri hushes him, gesturing at the footmen to open the door. Viktor guides Georgi in by the shoulders, stopping near the center of the room.

“Open,” he says in Russian.

There’s the most miniscule gasp when Georgi does, his eyes move across the parlor, taking in every plant, every Vine, every petal and leaf and stamen around the room. The sunlight streams through the windows, glinting off the silver-gilded tea cups already out on the table.

“They’re all labelled,” Viktor says, “if there are any you don’t recognize but want to know more about.”

“Are you interested in horticulture?” Yuuri asks.

“He’s fucking _obsessed_ with plants and shit,” Yuri answers.

“You should see the gardens,” Yuuri says. “I can have our groundskeeper show you the most interesting plants on the property, and if you have time you can go to the botanical gardens. I'll have them serve formal tea in the Royal Tea Room. All of their tea and most of their food is made from plants grown on the property. They have a rose jelly that’s quite good.”

“Could we take them?” Viktor asks.

“I can’t,” Yuuri says, “but if you can find space in your schedule tomorrow I don't see why _you_ wouldn't be able to.”

“Other than the meeting with your uncle, I think I'm free.”

“I'm anticipating that taking four or five hours, just so you know. With recent developments there’s a lot to go through.”

Viktor nods, turning towards his rinkmates. “We can go in the morning, then, and have tea, and I should get back just in time for the meeting with Yuuri’s uncle.”

“At which point,” Yuuri adds, “I can have the groundskeeper take you around, Gosha.”

“That sounds nice,” Georgi says as he sits down. “I might get some pictures.”

“Please,” Yuuri says, “if you want a cutting and it won’t harm the plant, you’re welcome to it. We could cultivate it here if necessary and I’ll get it to you somehow.”

The attendants enter, bringing tea and plenty of late summer Akitsushiman staples for them to have. Georgi smells the tea gladly when his is poured, taking a small fruit-stuffed bun to try. Yuri steals half the cookies available, and Viktor takes a stick of sauce-covered _odango_ to munch as they talk.

“Has your stay been good so far?” Yuuri asks. “I’m sorry we can’t have you for longer but with everything going on we’re unable to be as good hosts as we’d like.”

“So you’re unusually busy?” Georgi asks.

“We were able to take Yura to the zoo last time!” Viktor chimes in. “But yes, with the investigation it’s hard to—”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says quietly. The mood changes in an instant as Viktor’s little cousin stares at his plate.

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asks, concerned. “What are you sorry for?”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Yuri whispers. “They found out because of me?”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Then it couldn’t be your fault,” Yuuri says.

Looking up, through his hair, Yuri meets his eyes. “I said it to _you guys,_ though, when I—”

“You had nothing to do with them finding out,” Yuuri says, rubbing his arm over the old scars. Viktor keeps a straight face. “I can’t give you details, but I can tell you your question wasn’t what tipped them off. It was a conversation.”

That he _has_ details is news to Viktor, but he just sips his tea and looks at his little cousin. “You’re not behind the attack, don’t worry,” Viktor reassures. There’s no way of knowing how true that is for sure, not with Yuuri hiding something, but even if it’s a flat-out lie Viktor can see an attempt to ease the conscience of a teenage boy for what it is.

“You’re sure?” Glancing at Viktor, and then back at Yuuri, Yuri seems to brighten up, just a bit.

“I’m sure,” Yuuri says. “There were other people who had an idea of what was going on, even unintentionally. The wrong people drew the right conclusions.”

“They threatened me well before you said anything, too,” Viktor adds, “and Yuuri’s been under threat for years.”

Nodding, Yuri goes back to his tea. Looking back at Georgi, Yuuri smiles. “We’d love to have you guys back out sometime once everything’s settled down and the season’s passed.”

“It sounds fun,” Georgi replies. “I hear you have hot air balloons here?”

Yuuri nods. “We do! I’ve never been allowed, the Palace maintains a real flight in one isn’t enough to risk the Head of State— well, when I was a kid I was the _future_ Head of State— over, but I could certainly make arrangements for all of you to go if you’d like.”

“I wanna go,” Yuri says.

“Next time you come out, if you warn us well ahead of time, we can arrange a bunch of touristy stuff for you guys to do,” Yuuri offers. “I don’t mind at all, and if there’s anything anyone _wants_ to do, I’d be more than happy to accommodate it.” It's a roundabout way of saying he doesn't mind pulling a few strings if necessary to give them a more enjoyable experience.

Yuri grins. “I got to pet a tiger _and_ a lion last time.”

“I'll do some research,” Georgi says. “It sounds fun, thank you.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says, smiling as he leans back in his chair. “Let Vitya or I know when you do and we can make arrangements.”

 

~*~

 

When they’re alone in their bedroom that night, Viktor makes eye contact with his fiancé. “You know how they found out, don’t you?” he asks.

“Sorry?” Yuuri looks at Viktor with wide eyes, hands tying the string in the cotton pajama pants he’s wearing.

“About the engagement.”

Understanding floods Yuuri’s face as it softens. “I- Well,” he says, “sort of. We discussed it in the meetings yesterday afternoon. I was going to have my uncle run through it again with the both of us, though, tomorrow.”

“Yura had something to do with it, didn’t he?”

Sighing, Yuuri pads over to the kettle and turns it on. “Sort of, but it’s not his fault in the slightest, he didn't do anything _wrong._ I- they had people in the walls, Vitya. The jeweler I commissioned our necklaces from also filled an order for Takeda’s sister, and mentioned our matching ones. I hadn’t… I figured they would fly under the radar when I had Minako put in the commission and such, but I guess he figured out they were for me? So he told Takeda’s sister, and Takeda or whoever he’s working with had someone in the walls? Just listening in. Apparently someone heard Yura ask if we were engaged.”

“I _denied it_ though,” Viktor says. “Loudly.”

 _“I didn’t,”_ Yuuri replies. “I don’t know how that helped tip them off, but I guess the question and denial, then a pause or whatever, and then a topic shift? I don’t know how Takeda knew for sure though.”

“Unless he didn’t.” Frowning, Viktor grabs their mugs, setting them next to Yuuri. “He sounded sure when he talked to me but he was watching like he was gauging my reaction for something.”

“That was well after he threatened you, though.”

“Maybe it was the last straw.”

“Seems so. First I come home with you, then the necklaces, then the weird silence. It's not much to go on.” Measuring out the tea, Yuuri fills the tea bobs and drops them into the mugs.

“No,” Viktor says, “but we both know you’re very good at keeping things quiet.”

“They must know that by now too, then,” Yuuri says. “It's not like I've been forthcoming with information when I didn't feel it necessary.”

“You hid in plain sight for over a decade,” Viktor adds. “That takes skill, being able to lie convincingly, and if you can lie that well about your identity…”

“I could certainly keep an engagement quiet,” Yuuri finishes. He pours the now-boiling water into their mugs. “Those were probably the best leads they figured they were going to get and they had to act fast.” He sighs, holding Viktor’s mug out. “Fuck, I knew telling people would bite me in the ass.”

“You had no way of knowing,” Viktor says, taking his mug. “There was no reason for you to think people would be listening in our bedroom, and even _I_ could barely hear you.”

Staring at his tea, Yuuri nods. “I just—”

“Lyubov, none of this is your fault.”

“Okay.” It doesn't sound like Yuuri believes Viktor entirely, but he isn't continuing to apologize.

“How did Phichit take it?” Viktor asks. “Did you tell him before the announcement?”

“I… never actually said anything to him directly.” Yuuri scratches at the back of his head. “I should probably call him. Apologize. Tell him he’ll be at my wedding.” Carrying his mug to the couch, he sits and sets the mug on the side table. Viktor takes his place to Yuuri’s side, and watches as Yuuri pulls out his phone.

“Will he be awake?”

“Probably,” Yuuri says, dialing the number. “It’s midday in Detroit.”

Phichit answers the video call right away, and the first thing Viktor notices is he’s at the rink. Yuuri greets his friend in Thai, angling the phone so Viktor’s in frame. Viktor waves. Waving in return, Phichit grins.

“I see you both are up and around.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “I know it’s been a while, but I thought… Okay so I know you’ve seen the news, right?”

“Are you talking about being engaged?”

Blushing, Yuuri nods his head in imitation of a bow. “Yeah. I wanted to tell you you’ll be invited to the wedding and I figured you should finally hear it from me. Verbally. Directly.”

“I, uh, kind of already did,” Phichit says.

“What?!”

“The day you got engaged, I overheard you guys after I prayed. No one else was around and I was _right_ outside the door, so I know no one else heard, but. Yeah.”

Frowning, Yuuri pulls the phone close. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“You waited all of ten seconds after getting home to tell me you two smooched for the first time, I figured if you didn't tell me, there was some reason I shouldn't know, same as when you were hiding.”

Yuuri settles back into Viktor’s arms. “You're sure?” he asks. “You're sure no one else was there?”

“Nah, not in the hall,” Phichit replies. “Is the engagement why you got attacked?”

Resigned, Yuuri nods. “Part of it. I can't tell you anything else, though, but I'll be able to soon. I— wait, are you in Thailand?”

The camera moves, showing off rink signs in Thai and decór Viktor doesn't recognize before coming to rest with Phichit in frame.

“Detroit got boring without you,” Phichit says, “so I sold the car and such and moved back to Bangkok.” Looking off-screen, Phichit seems to be searching for someone. He smiles. “Ciao Ciao! Come here real fast, it’s Yuuri!”

The coach comes into frame a moment later, smiling as he waves. “Ciao ciao! It's good talking to you both, how are you?”

“We’re doing well,” Yuuri answers. “We, uh, we’re going to get married. I know you probably heard everything on the news.”

“Congratulations! Phichit’s kept me up to date,” Celestino says, “but I'm glad to hear from you, I know you've been busy. My condolences, about your father.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. “I got to say ‘goodbye,’ at least.”

“I'm glad. Viktor, enjoying the royal life?”

Viktor throws on a smile, chuckling. “It's certainly been something else,” he says. “Makkachin is enjoying it, especially having room to run in the gardens.” At the mention of his name, the dog perks up and trots over, resting his chin on Viktor’s knee. He's rewarded with scratches behind his ears.

“You're looking well,” Celestino says, and Viktor wants to laugh. He can see Yuuri’s lips purse, if only momentarily, and he just knows Yuuri’s aware how far from the truth that statement is.

“I'm healing up alright,” Viktor says. “Physical therapy is working wonders for getting me back on the ice.”

“Will you be able to compete at all this season?” Celestino is only making polite conversation, but Viktor really doesn't feel like explaining himself unnecessarily. Celestino isn't his coach, doesn't really need to know Viktor’s plans, so he shrugs.

“Depends on how well I heal,” he says. “We’ll see.”

“I hope to see you on the ice,” the coach laughs. He then looks at his student. “I'll leave you to talking, but I want to see you ready to practice soon.”

“Alright.”

Yuuri and Viktor wave Celestino off, and when Phichit comes back into frame he looks sheepish. “Sorry, anyway, I’m doing _Shall We Skate_ and _Terra Incognita_ for my programs this year.”

“Finally,” Yuuri laughs. “You’ve been wanting to skate them for ages!”

“I feel like skating the songs I love from my favorite movies will help me make it to the Grand Prix final.” There’s no mention of hoping to beat Viktor. No mention of being grateful Viktor isn't in the running. Almost as if Viktor's not the man who’s dominated the field for almost a decade now, an acknowledgement that Viktor’s time in competition may be done.

Alternatively, almost like someone with a keen understanding of when people need to not be reminded of how the world sees them. He looks at Yuuri, who has an understanding and appreciative smile on his face, and back at the phone.

“Phichit,” Viktor says.

“Yeah?”

“You have the skill, you have the drive, you have the love of the sport. You can make it to the Final.”

Nodding, Phichit flashes a peace sign. “I’ve gotta get back to practice, but I’m glad to talk to you both! Keep in touch, yeah?”

Nodding, Yuuri pulls the phone a bit closer. “For sure! Give me updates on your routines! I can’t wait to see them.”

“I wish you could see them in person, you know?”

Yuuri nods again. “Yeah, I know. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do, but you could always come visit Hasetsu and show me!”

Phichit laughs. “I’d love to,” he says. “We’ll figure something out. Oh, and Viktor?”

Looking at the screen, Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Thanks.” Utterly sincere, Phichit’s gratitude resonates somewhere in Viktor and he smiles in return.

“Of course.” There’s no way in hell he can motivate himself right now, but Phichit looks up to him. Phichit sees Viktor as a mentor of sorts it seems, especially after their time training together in Detroit. Maybe even as a friend. Encouraging someone in that position is easy. Viktor remembers what it was like to be young, trying his best to skate programs that would make him happy and earn him a place on the podium, and by now he knows what Phichit needs to hear.

Phichit doesn’t take long to sign off, and the room is strangely quiet for a moment.

“I can’t believe that fucker knew,” Yuuri mutters, smiling.

“He didn’t tell us,” Viktor murmurs with a note of frustration.

“He assumed right when I didn’t tell him and kept quiet to keep us safe.” Yuuri moves to the window, looking out over his balcony to the grounds. “I’m not upset, I really am not, and I- I don’t think you should be, either.”

“I’m not _upset,_ just frustrated we didn’t know.”

“For good _reason,”_ Yuuri says, turning around. “Phichit _knows_ the more something is said the more likely it is to be overheard. Even him telling us he knew could have caused problems had it been intercepted somehow. He’s used to keeping my secrets, Vitya, and he’s used to those secrets being life-or-death. I’m not surprised he didn’t tell us until now.”

 _He’s used to those secrets being life-or-death._ Months ago, Viktor didn’t quite understand the gravity of what being in that position meant but now he knows intimately. It’s little wonder Yuuri’s trust in Phichit is near-absolute. Nodding, Viktor stands to move to his fiancé, taking Yuuri into his arms. “You’re right,” he says. “You’ve thought it through better than I have.”

“I have more experience thinking things like this through.” Snuggling into Viktor’s chest, Yuuri sighs happily. “I missed this. I missed being in your arms.”

“I missed holding you. Do you think we should figure out how easy it is to hear speech through your office doors?”

“Probably,” Yuuri replies. “I wouldn’t have any way of knowing. If I’m not in my office, _no one_ _is_ outside of my head assistant and I can’t remember if I could hear my dad when I was a kid.”

“What if you asked the guards?”

“They’re likely to say something about ‘just a murmur, Sire, we can assure you your privacy is secure’ even if it’s not entirely.” He sighs. “No one gives me a straight answer with half the shit I ask them, not if my reaction might be bad.”

“If I asked?”

“No, you’re my fiancé. They won’t typically give you an answer they wouldn’t give me, you’re going to be King-Consort, pissing you off is almost just as bad as me or my family. That, and word is likely to get back to me and they won’t want to risk that.”

“Wow,” Viktor murmurs. “You know, when we first arrived they wouldn’t tell me anything? The night you… That night I just got brushed off and such. Next day my tour was almost touristy.”

“There was a lot going on,” Yuuri says, “and honestly I'm not sure everyone knew you were anyone but my friend. Palace staff and the guards at the airport got my picture about an hour before we landed and I think it was like, the first time anyone but the security team or my family had actually seen my face since I'd left. Staff-wide email letting them know what their Crown Prince looked like so there weren't any embarrassing incidents. You saw how everyone recognized me at the airport. It’s likely no one knew you were coming until my sister called, either. Last-minute accomodations for my guest at the same time as an imminent transfer of power… Things were hectic.”

Nodding, Viktor makes a noise of agreement before frowning. “The guide, though. Who was there at your first fitting.”

“Oh she was out of line,” Yuuri says. “I'm sure she got pulled aside. Anyway, I could try asking my mom or Mari and my uncle to help us out. They can stand outside at different distances and we can talk at different levels or something, I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of not having absolute privacy, though.” His eyes are drawn to the coffee table near the couch. “Is that a plant?”

“Gosha gave me a cutting of one of his favorite succulents.” There’s an inexplicable significance to Georgi giving someone a plant, especially one from his own garden, and Viktor already loves it. He might name it, in all honesty.

“It seems special.”

“It is,” Viktor says. “I want to keep it in here, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Yuuri replies. “This is your home, too, you know?”

Viktor nods. In some storeroom in the Palace are the things he packed in St. Petersburg, ready to be brought to his and Yuuri’s rooms. Though Yuuri doesn’t pay them much attention, he has several more rooms dedicated to his use here that are considered part of the King’s Apartments. Hiroko had long since moved her stuff out, once the apartments had become a medical hub for her husband’s care, and once the rooms became Yuuri’s, she’d been well-situated in her own.

Though it would be nice having his things brought up, the energy needed for the emotional labor of baring his life to his fiancé seems a bit too much to muster for now.

“We’re going to the gardens tomorrow,” Viktor says. “It being their last day here, I figured tea would be nice. I made arrangements earlier.”

“Sounds fun,” Yuuri says. “If they give you any shit about using the Royal Tea Room, video call me and I’ll tell them to listen to you.”

“They sounded enthusiastic, actually, so I don’t think there’ll be issues.”

“There better not be,” Yuuri says, smiling as he kisses Viktor’s nose, hugs him around the waist, and sighs once again. “I love you,” he says. “I do, so much, Vityusha.”

 

~*~

 

It had been late spring the last time Viktor had visited the Botanical Gardens, and now delicate pastels have bled into the pale greens and yellows and oranges of early fall. The terrace of the Royal Tea Room is on the second story, overlooking the grounds. The view is incredible, and with the gardens open to the public it’s nice seeing children playing on the open lawns.

“How much is it to get in here?” Yuri asks, looking over the manicured grounds. “It's fucking fancy as shit.”

“They don't charge admission,” Viktor says. “It's open to the public on most days of the year.”

“Oh,” Yuri says. “Why? They don't want money and shit?”

“When Yuuri was about six, he made a speech saying he wished everyone could come and enjoy it. So his dad made it free to the public.”

 _“All_ of the public?”

Viktor nods. “Tourists included.”

“Well, shit.” Slouching, Yuri shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. “Katsudon’s pretty fucking good, huh?”

It sounds innocuous, and Viktor isn't worried about the waitstaff having just entered. Katsudon as a food is very good, and that’s what they think Viktor’s saying when he agrees with Yuri’s assessment. Yuri straightens up while they eat, tasting all of the available snacks and fruits finely displayed on tiered silver platters. On occasion, people on the lawns below see him, wave to him, and he takes delight in returning the gesture.

Minako had chuckled the first time he'd asked if he was allowed, reminding him that it was expected and encouraged for him to form a relationship the people he’ll be ruling. Ever since, he’s greeted the citizenry with the most fun smile he can get away with (or force himself into, sometimes, and it's those days he feels like a fraud, and a bad one at that).

Yuri vanishes to the bathroom, and Georgi seizes the moment of privacy.

“How bad is it?” he asks, unfooled by the various smiles Viktor’s been wearing.

“I'm fine.”

“You’re doing worse than you're letting on, even I can see that.”

Viktor looks at him for a long moment. “Things have been worse in the past, I'll be okay.”

“Vitya,” Georgi says, “that isn't much comfort.”

“Gosha. Just…” Glancing around, Viktor silently asks him not to push the issue, especially not here.

“Alright. Okay. If you need something, I'm here.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Leaning back, Georgi sips his tea, looking out over the gardens. The unusual amount of prodding he’s doing is a testament to how worried he actually is. Unsure if he’s now feeling guilty, Viktor too looks over the grounds. Yuri trots back over from the other end of the terrace, carrying a sleek black cat with eyes almost the same shimmering green as his own and Viktor makes sure he’s smiling by the time he’s in Yuri’s line of sight.

“Did you find a friend?” Viktor asks.

“Shut up, you’re being a- you're being mean.”

When the butler moves around Viktor to take their teapot, he understands the change in tone.

“Are you ready for dessert, Mr. Nikiforov?” he asks.

“Please,” he responds.

“Hey, does this cat have a name?” Yuri asks.

The butler looks thoughtful for a moment. “I believe she doesn't, Mr. Plisetsky.”

“Can I name her?”

“I would require approval from the Royal Family, but once I have that I don't see why not.”

“Consider it given,” Viktor says easily. For such a simple request, his first time enacting this sort of authority is nerve-wracking

The butler looks at him a moment and bows. “Very well, sir. Mr. Plisetsky, feel free, and I’ll have her new name put in our records.”

Yuri beams excitedly, and Viktor can’t help but smile.

 

Yuuri’s standing on the terrace in traditional clothing when they get back, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed over his chest. “You named the cat Panther Dragon?”

“Pagon for short,” Yuri retorts. “Viktor said I could.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. “I'm not complaining. Just… wondering.”

“It’s a cool name,” he mutters, “not that any of the old farts here know what’s actually cool.” Creatively working around the Palace’s rules about propriety when insulting Viktor (and Yuuri, to an extent,) seems to be something Yuri takes pride in, and Viktor knows Yuuri finds it amusing.

“Well,” Yuuri says, “did you enjoy the gardens?”

“Immensely,” Georgi says. “The tea, as well. They gave us each a large box of teas to take home.”

“They gave me extra for my grandpa,” Yuri says. “And some snacks and shit for the flight tonight.”

Grinning, Yuuri gestures for everyone to follow him in. “They supply much of the tea here at the Palace, and some for most of the other Royal Residences and Properties across the country. Now, Gosha, the groundskeeper will be free in a few minutes to take you around the gardens and greenhouses.”

“Do I have to go with him?” Yuri says. “We spent all fucking morning looking at plants and I'm sick of it.”

“You know where everything is,” Yuuri says, gesturing at their surroundings. “Vitya and I will be busy for a few hours, enough time for you to watch a movie or play something.”

“What about your sister? I want to play ping-pong again.”

“She’s also going to the meeting, she’s the Crown Princess now. I'm sure she’d be up for a game afterward, though.”

“What's it even about?” Shoving his hands in his suit pockets, he scowls.

“Just some new stuff in the investigation,” Yuuri says. “We can’t discuss it with you right now, I regret to say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” Yuuri sighs. “It’s a sensitive, on-going investigation. I won't talk about it, regardless of whether or not I _can.”_ He stops as he comes to a junction in three hallways. “I regret to say, Vitya and I need to be getting to that meeting. Gosha, if you’ll walk down this hall,” he says, gesturing, “you'll see a terrace to your left. The groundskeeper will meet you there. Yura, my mom’s in her sitting room if you want to watch something with her. Otherwise, meet us in the family dining room for dinner at eight.”

“Sure,” Yuri replies. “What are we having?”

“My mom will be cooking for everyone tonight, so, katsudon.”

Yuri looks up. “You think she'll teach me?”

“To make katsudon? I'm sure she would if you asked.”

Yuri nods and turns to head down the hall, waving. “Have fun with your plants and meetings and shit.”

“I'll leave you to your duties,” Georgi says, smiling. Viktor nods.

“We’ll see you for dinner. Hiroko-san’s katsudon is incredible.”

“Why, thank you, Vicchan!” Hiroko comes up behind him, resting her hand on his arm for a moment.

“Kaa-chan? I thought—” Yuuri glances down the hall. “I thought you were in your rooms.”

“No,” she says, “I had tea with some of the wedding planners, why?”

“Ahh, Yura said he was going to ask you something and I sent him to your formal sitting room,” Yuuri explains.

Hiroko merely smiles. “I’ll have someone let him know I’ll be right there. Georgi are you going out to the Palace grounds now?”

Nodding, Georgi gives a slight bow. “I am.”

“Have them take you to the orchids if you’d like some fruit.”

“Kaa-chan, they won’t listen to him and I have to go.”

Looping her arm through Georgi’s, Hiroko smiles. “I’ll make sure he gets a good experience, you two go to your meetings. I'll see you both for dinner.”

Yuuri nods and his mother turns away, asking an attendant to have Yuri intercepted before guiding Georgi down the hall.

 

Isamu is waiting outside the conference room when they get there. “Yuuri-sama, your sister is already inside. There are a few people missing, but we do want to get started as soon as they arrive.”

Nodding, Yuuri lets out a breath. “Oji-san is it— please tell me there’s good news.”

“Yes,” Isamu answers with a relieved smile. “Kataoka-san is already proving useful.”

Nodding, Yuuri sighs, drawn-out and shaky, before he pulls himself together again. Quietly taking Viktor’s hand, he rubs his thumb on the back.

The attendant present has long since given them their coffee when the last of the investigative team arrives, bowing deeply to Yuuri and Viktor, and then Isamu and Mari, begging pardon for their tardiness. When they have coffee and are situated, the head investigator stands, moving towards a large screen.

“Since Kataoka Atsuko-san has started giving us information, we are proud to say there has been significant progress made.” Looking at Yuuri, he smiles. “We are currently examining Kataoka Hana-san’s possessions, including gaining access to the electronics she’d had with her.”

“Her phone?” Yuuri asks.

“Yes, sire.” The investigator smiles at Yuuri, well aware of his worry about Hana. Viktor suspects the people in this room have a better idea than Yuuri thinks they do about how he’s been affected by everything. “Your Majesty,” the investigator continues, “as evidence mounts that Kataoka Hana-san seems to be innocent, we are doing our utmost to ensure she spends no more time in jail than she must.”

“Understood.” Yuuri looks vaguely like he wants to pursue the issue, but the investigator has since moved on to detailing plans to approach staff members of select noble families, select _people_ Atsuko had assured them would help with the right incentive. A consultation with the legal council must be had before they can start pulling witnesses, and Yuuri needs to know what sort of promises can be made before the line is crossed from getting testimony to buying it. It's a delicate balance, but Isamu and Yuuri are confident it can be done.

 

~*~

 

The footmen outside the dining room bow deeply and open the door, but don't announce Yuuri when he goes to enter, which means they’re alone. Sure enough, the table is empty as they make their way over, taking their customary places at the head.

“We’re early, I guess,” Yuuri says.

“Apparently.” Kissing his nose, Viktor smiles. “Are you going to the airport with us?”

“I was going to give you time to say your goodbyes, if you wanted. Without having to deal with me around.”

“They both like you, you know, Yuri’s just—”

“Not like that,” Yuuri interrupts softly. “I tend to make things awkward by virtue of my presence. Especially in public.”

“Oh. That makes a lot of sense.”

The door opens.

“Her Royal Highness and Mr. Popovich,” a footman says.

Mari walks in, laughing, with her arm hooked through Georgi’s. “Vitya, Yuuri, hi,” she says, kneeling at her seat next to Yuuri. Georgi takes his next to Viktor, smiling as he meets his eyes.

“I was just telling Georgi about Yuuri trying natto again, how he practically choked,” Mari grins.

“The only thing more disgusting than those slime beans is the fact that Vitya _likes_ them.” Crossing his arms, Yuuri sits back on his heels. “Who _does_ that?”

Viktor leans close and smiles. “Your future husband,” he says, lips brushing the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

When Yuuri jerks back he’s bright pink from the tip of his nose to the tips of his perfect ears, and he coughs once before clearing his throat. “I maintain natto is disgusting.”

“More for me,” Viktor says, shrugging.

Yuuri grunts. They hear the waitstaff near the door before it opens, but the first person into the room is Yuri, carrying a bowl of something he sets down with a grin.

“Pirozhki?” Viktor asks.

“Eat one,” Yuri says, moving the bowl closer.

Always adventurous, Yuuri grabs one, taking a bite. “‘Sh hot!” He exclaims, chewing quickly. The more he chews the more lost in thought he becomes.

“Rice?” Yuuri chews more. “Pork?” Looking at the pastry in his hand, his eyes widen. “Katsudon pirozhki?”

“Yeah!” Yuri says. “My grandpa gave me the idea!”

“Vkusno!” Yuuri says, taking another bite.

Viktor grabs one himself, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. Somehow, the pork is juicy and the egg and sauce just runny enough that the rice isn't dry, but not enough that it makes a mess. Fluffy, the dough crunches when Viktor bites into it again as attendants serve tea.

“These are really good,” Mari says.

Georgi reaches towards the bowl, but finds his wrist grabbed before he can get food.

 _“Nyet,”_ Yuri says. “First you try katsudon, _then_ katsudon pirozhki.”

Georgi chuckles as Hiroko is announced and a large bowl of katsudon is set in front of him. Taking his chopsticks in hand, he tries his first bite.

“It's good! The onions are perfectly crisp, the pork perfectly fried! A symphony of flavors combining into—”

“Oh my god do you ever shut up?” Yuri gripes.

“One day,” Georgi continues, layering on a bit of extra drama, “you, too, will taste something so beautiful, so _exquisite,_ that it moves you to an impassioned speech in which you wish only to thank your hosts for providing the means by which you can have such an incredible culinary experience.”

Rolling his eyes, Yuri grabs one of the pirozhki, taking a huge bite.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hiroko says. “It’s been a joy having both of you out here.”

“It’s been a joy visiting,” Georgi responds smoothly. He gets along surprisingly well with Yuuri’s family. He has a sense of humor similar to Mari’s, and with Hiroko he seems to enjoy their talks. Viktor suspects she may have taken him on a short tour of some areas of the Palace, as well. Regardless, they get along, and Yuuri’s happy they get along, and Viktor is especially glad that his cousin and rinkmate (friend?) get along so well with his future in-laws.

 

The staff has loaded things up by the time they’ve finished dessert and coffee. Hiroko and Mari are the first to say goodbye at the car, Mari pulling Yuri into a hug while he makes a show about how not-a-child he is. Hiroko, too, hugs him with less protest on his part, before moving to take Georgi into her arms. As tall as he is it’s almost entertaining how far over he needs to bend, but he manages with grace. Yuuri, then, gives Yuri a hug and shakes Georgi’s hand.

“I want to thank both of you for being so great in Russia,” he says, “both at Nationals and when I visited your rink in St. Petersburg.”

“It was fun skating with you,” Georgi says. “Vitya’d told us you were good, and I’d seen video from Phichit but it was very different seeing it in person.”

“Phichit showed video?”

“It was a while back,” Georgi explains, “he’d said his roommate could skate and no one believed you could as well as he’d said.”

“Well, then,” Yuuri mumbles. “Was I?”

“A bit better, actually. Some of us wondered why you didn't compete.”

Laughing, Yuuri scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I'd have loved to, honestly, but training to be king and all was a timesuck. Among other things.”

“That makes sense,” Georgi says. “Phichit said you were doing school or something.”

“That sounds about right,” Yuuri says. “I’d like to visit St. Petersburg again at some point, seeing as how everything got cut short.”

“You're more than welcome! I can show you my plants.”

“Nobody wants to see your fucking plants,” Yuri mutters.

 _“I’d_ like to,” Yuuri says. “It sounds lovely.”

“Your Majesty, I beg your pardon,” an attendant says, “but the flight staff has asked me to inform you that all necessary checks have been completed and the plane is ready when Mr. Plisetsky and Mr. Popovich are.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says. “I don't want to keep you unnecessarily late; I know you have practice tomorrow. Vitya, will you let me know when you get back? I can tell you where I am.”

“I will,” Viktor says, leaning to kiss him. “It won't be long.”

They’re joined just before they leave by Yulian sliding unobtrusively into the front seat. He makes eye contact with Viktor in the rear-view mirror and nods.

“Why is _he_ here?” Yuri asks, looking at the bodyguard.

“I'm leaving the grounds,” Viktor says. “I _always_ have a bodyguard when I leave the grounds.”

Yuri huffs, but remains quiet for the drive. Georgi watches the cityscape out the window as the sea of lights grows and becomes the old city center, taking in Viktor’s new home as he’s wont to do. They bypass the public entrance to the airport, driving directly into the private hangar. The plane there is closer to the private jet Viktor had expected when he and Yuuri had visited Russia, compact and with only a few windows along the sides.

Once they climb out of the car, airport staff rushes to get the luggage moved to the airplane. Georgi takes a small box from an attendant, thanking them. The clink of glass tubes from inside makes Viktor smile.

“Cuttings?” he asks.

Georgi smiles. “The groundskeeper was more than willing to let me take some, and I feel like they might like some of the plants I have at home.”

“I'm sure they'll appreciate it,” Viktor says. With Yuri examining the underbelly of the plane, they have relative privacy, and Viktor sighs. “Thanks for coming out.” Having them here has been a good distraction, giving Viktor something to focus on beyond the gaps in his schedule and the aching inability to train. He’s genuinely sad to see them go, but it isn't clear whether that's because he misses them or dreads loneliness.

Georgi doesn't entirely get the sincerity and depth of his gratitude, but seems to know it goes beyond just the visit, and he nods. “It was nice seeing you. Keep in touch?”

“Of course,” Viktor replies.

“Seriously,” Georgi says. “I'm here.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” is Viktor’s clipped reply but before Georgi can say anything else, Yuri is back over and Viktor’s smiling again.

“Yura, be good on the flight back! I don't want to hear about you being a brat with the staff.”

“I know how to behave!”

“Oh, Yuratchka,” Viktor says, “of course you do. Let me know when you guys arrive safely.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And let me know _before_ you come out next time.”

 _“Alright,”_ Yuri says, now wrapped in Viktor’s arms. “Let me _go.”_ Twisting in Viktor’s arms, his elbow lands right over where the breaks had been, and Viktor sucks in a pained breath he knows Yuri heard.

“Sorry,” Yuri mutters, pulling away.

“You're fine,” Viktor gasps, holding his side. “It happens.”

His little cousin nods, scuffing the floor with his tennis shoe.

Yulian comes over. “Mr. Nikiforov, the luggage is loaded.”

Nodding, Viktor thanks him and smiles at Yuri. “I'll see you soon,” he says.

“Yeah, alright.”

Viktor waves as they board, smiling as each turns to wave back at him before vanishing into the interior of the plane. After they’ve taxied out of the hangar, Viktor’s face falls as he climbs into the car for the drive back.

 

~*~

 

As was the case when they visited the Winter Palace, Hasetsu’s Royal Heritage Museum is closed to the public when Yuuri visits. Viktor, Mari, and Hiroko are with him, an outing as the sovereign branch of the Royal Family in its entirety meant to display solidarity and some level of familial closeness.

They pull into a small palace, one Yuuri explained had been given over for use by the public to showcase Akitsushima’s tradition, culture, and heritage, with an entire area devoted specifically to the royal line. Yuuri, apparently, had been present at the Opening Ceremony and young enough at the time to have been photographed solely on his mother’s hip. Now he’s visiting again, and the staff is eager to please from the time they open the car doors. With Hiroko on Yuuri’s arm and Mari on Viktor’s, they greet the assembled crowd with smiles. Everyone waves with their free arm, pose for pictures with Viktor and Yuuri conveniently in the center, and turn to walk up the grand front staircase.

There are fewer photographers inside. The inside is nearly as ornate as the main palace in Hasetsu, and though Yuuri had described it as one of the smaller palaces strewn throughout the country, it’s still an immense space. The Akitsushiman Royal Family may be somewhat simplistic in their decor compared to the Rococo stylings of many of Europe’s palaces, but they allow no less of a statement of grandeur.

Looking down the hall just a bit, Viktor can see a ticketing office and bag check, brochures available for use and guidebooks for purchase. One of the head curators greets them on their arrival, bowing as she welcomes everyone. They’re each given guidebooks of their own, thin volumes full of pristine pictures of many of the museum’s highlights. Yuuri flips through while they make their way to the first exhibit, raising his eyebrows when he comes across a picture of a dress his sister wore. He snorts, elbowing her in the side.

“What?” she asks, looking at him.

“Isn’t this the dress you were wearing when you sat on wet paint that one time?”

Mari squints, looking at the picture, before taking the book out of Yuuri’s hands. “How do you even remember that?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It was probably funny, so it probably stayed put in my brain after I left.”

“Oh so you remember _that,_ but not asking them to announce Vicchan.”

“I may also have googled video to show Phichit a while back.”

Chuckling, Hiroko pats her son’s arm as they walk. Unlike other museum visits, there is no guide here, only guards and someone who sort of tails them to be available to answer any questions without being obtrusive.

They get through general historical artifacts before approaching a series of formal entertaining rooms turned into an exhibit on the Royal Family. Dominating one corner of a large sitting room is a glass case full of what looks like broken crowns. Viktor finds himself drawn over, and after a moment of inspection he hears Yuuri next to him.

“These are decommissioned crowns,” he says. “When monarchs pass on, we’ll break their favorite, or one associated strongly with them, when they die so it can't be used again.”

“Why not just put them in the case?”

“It's a sign of respect,” Yuuri says. “Otherwise I could just open the case and take one and plop it on my head, and then having decommissioned it serves no purpose.” He walks to the other side, waving Viktor over.

“This was my grandfather’s,” he says, smiling. “I remember trying to wear it once and it slid straight over my head.”

“He won independence,” Viktor says.

“He took back the country and the crown,” Yuuri confirms. He moves a foot over, smiling sadly as he reads the label underneath. “This one was my father’s.” Turning around, he looks at the museum staff member. “Is there a way I could hold it?”

“I'll have to get one of the head curators, Sire, but I'm sure we can accommodate your request.”

Yuuri smiles, kind, and nods. “I’d like that, please. I'll take whatever precautions are needed for conservation purposes.”

“Yes, Sire,” she answers, stepping away to ask.

Yuuri hovers his fingers near the glass, not wanting to smudge it but wanting to hold the crown, something tangible that’s still forevermore his father’s instead of being passed to him. The head curator, having authorization to open the case, shows up shortly, unlocking it and gesturing at the crown in question. Gingerly, Yuuri reaches out, picking up one half of the silver crown and holding it reverently.

“This was dad’s favorite?” he asks.

“It was,” Hiroko answers. “He wore it often, even at formal events.”

Nodding, Yuuri seems to let himself get lost in the metalwork, tracing swirling patterns with his finger until he loses them. Even Viktor has trouble reading his face, watching as it shifts from a listful melancholy to something both angry and hurt as Yuuri looks at a relic, _the_ relic the nation had chosen as so quintessentially his father’s they’d rendered it useless for all others. Rubbing his thumb on the cool metal, Yuuri takes a hitched breath, asking Mari quietly to ensure privacy as tears gather in the corners of his eyes. She dismisses the staff present.

Yuuri’s crying by the time the doors are closed, quiet tears punctuated by shaky breaths.

“I’m trying, dad,” he whispers to the metal in his hands. “I’m doing my damnedest.” The light glinting off the silver trembles with Yuuri’s hands as he tries to breathe. The crown on his head, a shining, very similar silver to the one in his hand, echoes the same designs as well. Coincidence though it is, it stirs something in Viktor as he watches. Every crown in this case was owned and worn by one of Yuuri’s ancestors, and one day Yuuri will have a crown displayed here.

If they hadn’t survived Russia, he would already.

When he looks back at his fiancé, Viktor sees him gently holding the crown to his chest, swallowing his grief as he regains the composure expected of him. Mari comes over, wraps her arms around him and rests her cheek on his.

“He was so proud of you, so _incredibly_ proud. He'd be even more proud of how well you've been doing.”

Yuuri nods, looking back at the piece of the crown in his hands before setting it carefully back in the case. Walking over, Viktor wraps his arm around Yuuri’s waist. Doing the same, Yuuri leans into him, sighing heavily.

“Let's see the rest,” he whispers. Viktor presses a kiss to his temple, squeezes his hip and whispers his love before following Mari into the next room.

Much taller than the rooms they'd just come from, this new one has an entirely different energy, focused on the chair at the end. The throne. Along the green carpet leading to the throne, however, are a myriad of glass cases. Some hold children’s toys, along one wall is a display of formal and casual clothing, some with circlets and most made for someone young and important.

Yuuri stops near a case, looking in. “Are these my skates? The ones Oba-san gave me?”

“Yes,” Hiroko says.

“And my first pair of glasses.”

“Yes.”

“They look so much like the ones I have now. I'd forgotten about them.”

“Honestly I almost got whiplash the first time I saw the current ones,” Mari says.

Viktor wanders over to a display of papers. Many of them are written in Japanese, a shaky child’s hand making lines up and down the paper. The display seems to be chronological, the writing getting neater over time until abruptly it switches to much smaller English script that’s recognizably _Yuuri’s._ Sure enough, ‘Yuuri Katsuki’ is written in the top right hand corner of a history assignment emblazoned with an ‘A’.

“Hana-nee saved some of my school papers to show my parents when we got home.”

“Everything in this room is yours, isn't it?” Viktor asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers. “I didn't realize they had so much from when I was younger.”

Nodding, Viktor follows him to the mannequins set up. Military uniforms, small suits, miniature versions of the traditional clothing Yuuri is wearing right now are all artfully displayed, almost life-like in the posing. Yuuri’s expression is complicated, nostalgia and displeasure in equal measure, and he walks down the line, biting his lip. At the end are four much taller mannequins, the outfit Yuuri had been wearing when they’d arrived in Hasetsu (beanie included) strikingly casual next to the ones made for the funeral, coronation, and ball displayed alongside it.

Sighing, Yuuri turns back around, following the line of mannequins towards the throne. At the end are two outfits, an older man’s and a younger boy’s, posed as if they’re holding hands.

“I was wearing that when I became Crown Prince,” he says, “which means that’s the outfit my father wore when he was crowned King.” Glancing at the throne, Yuuri looks at the curator who’d followed.

“How’s the structural integrity of the throne?”

“Sire? Um, it should be fine,” she responds. “No one is permitted to sit in it, so I’ve never seen it in use, but it should be fine.”

Glancing between her and the dais, Yuuri seems pensive for a moment before he walks over to the velvet rope marking it as off-limits.

“Is there any reason I shouldn't sit in it? Conservation? Whoopie cushion?”

“No, Sire,” she answers. “It is only off-limits because it is still a throne and therefore may only be sat in by our sovereign.”

Nodding, Yuuri steps over the rope. “I’d like it if you could see about having a replica made,” Yuuri says.

“Why is that, Sire?” the head curator asks. “If you don't mind.”

Now at the top of the small dais, Yuuri turns around. “I think it’d be fun for people to take pictures in, honestly. People want to see what it’s like, how it feels.” He sits unceremoniously in the throne, throwing one leg over the arm as he lounges. “I was insanely curious as a kid, and I knew for a _fact_ I'd have a chance someday.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she says, bowing.

“I don't want the monarchy to feel cut off and entirely inaccessible to people anymore,” Yuuri says. “This way, they can see the real thing and also what it feels like without risking excessive wear damage to a one hundred and fifty year old chair.”

“I'll have the staff look into craftspeople to make a replica, then, Sire. I'm sure visitors will appreciate the gesture.”

Standing, Yuuri strides back down to the rope and steps over it easily, making his way back to Viktor and offering his arm. As discomforted as he looked seeing his things on display, the room adjacent to the throne room is worse. It’s been restyled much like a modern museum, with pictures of Yuuri everywhere. “The Lost Crown Prince”, a large sign reads, and Yuuri sighs.

“What’s wrong, Velichestvo?” Viktor asks.

“I was sick of having my life dissected by the time I was a teenager,” Yuuri replies, “even though I staunchly avoided reading stuff about it. This is all… a lot.” As they walk, Viktor can see television screens looping video clips of Yuuri as a child. Many of them are clearly taken by the press, Yuuri more formal and waving to the cameras, waving to crowds, riding in limousines and carriages, exiting airplanes and shaking hands with various public figures. Some screens are playing clips of him with people Viktor assumes are other royals and government leaders.

“You look so serious,” Viktor says. “All of this is footage of you in public and you barely smile.”

“He smiled more than the footage lets on,” Hiroko says, coming up behind them and rubbing Yuuri’s back. “It’s more dignified with the somber expressions, so that’s what got emphasized in the media. Yuuri was a happy child.”

Mari calls for them from an area nearby. “There’s home video footage over here, if you want,” she offers. When they get over, the change is almost refreshing. Clearly, much of this is footage taken by the Palace’s official photographers during laid-back occasions. Yuuri chases his sister across the grounds in one, flying across the lawns and leaping over flower beds with a dancer’s stride. Some is vacation footage, Yuuri playing on the beach with his father, curled up with his mother on the deck of a yacht. Much of it is domestic, and much of it serves to drive home what exactly Yuuri had left behind all those years ago.

The last section is decidedly more familiar. Under a sign saying it’s about Yuuri’s return are a huge number of color photographs, most notably an almost life-sized one on the wall of Yuuri’s return. It was taken when he’d waved at the crowd before they’d gotten into the limousine. Photo-Viktor stands to his side, looking decidedly more put-together than he remembers feeling, and the real Yuuri stands, staring, with a frown on his face.

“They’ve made a spectacle of it,” he mutters after reading a blurb nearby. “Everything. Look, they keep talking about how it’s obvious I’m of a ‘different class’ and have the ‘regal bearing of my line’ and just. It’s all about me and how distinctly _royal_ I managed to be after living abroad. Like it’s an _accomplishment.”_

“They were happy to see you home,” Mari says. “You were missed, people were worried.”

“Which is why there’s like, one comment about how glad they are I made it home alive, and about fifteen about how great it is that I still exemplified what it means to be an Akitsushiman Royal.”

“They’re still celebrating your return.”

“Indeed,” Yuuri says, holding his arm out to his mother. “Let’s see the art.”

 

In the privacy of the limousine, Mari frowns at her little brother. “Why were you so upset about the exhibit about you? It’s been around for years, the only new stuff is from after you left.”

Yuuri just looks out the window, leaning against Viktor. “I just don’t like people picking my life apart so they feel better.”

“What do you _mean?”_ Mari asks. “How is that making the public feel better?”

“Akitsushiman pride. Having me to point at to say I’m the perfect example of what it means to be from here. Of how great the Royal Line is.” Nestling further into the crook under Viktor’s arm, Yuuri sighs. “Mari, you’ve never been a tabloid sensation before.”

“I’ve been in the tabloids plenty,” she says.

Shaking his head, Yuuri watches the scenery pass by. “Not like me. They knew you, knew who and where you were, what you were doing. People _obsessed_ over me, found every little bit of information, ran it through ad nauseum until it’d been ground into dust, and then kept going with wild guesswork. You know, every year on my birthday it blew up? Everyone talked about the yearly ‘tragic speech’ dad made and how sad it was. My life was a story to the world. Now, it’s a point of national pride for our people, and _still_ entertainment for everyone else.”

Viktor rubs his shoulder as Mari mulls over what Yuuri’d said. Hiroko reaches out to both her children, taking their hands and rubbing the backs with her thumbs. As opposed to other times Yuuri’s had to set the record straight about his point of view, Mari doesn’t try to explain things away, instead letting herself process. Hiroko speaks after a moment, talking about how they’d been careful about what they’d let the museum have, how they tried to keep them from having Yuuri’s entire life. They’d given limited home video footage over, insisting that much of what they displayed was publicly available in one way or another. Gratefully, Yuuri squeezes her hand and takes a breath as they turn down the streets to the Palace.

 

~*~

 

Viktor jerks awake at the sound of their sitting room door being closed. Heart pounding, he shakes Yuuri, covering his fiancé’s mouth when his eyes fly open.

“Someone's in our room,” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri frowns.

“I heard the door,” Viktor says. Yuuri’s eyes widen further, darting to the window. He can't be thinking of jumping, his leg isn't entirely healed and they’re too far off the ground and what if Viktor’s ribs get broken again in the fall and—

The handle to their bedroom door opens, the sound of the latch disengaging echoing in the dark. When Viktor pulls his hands to his chest, Yuuri puts a finger to his lips. Glancing at the opening door, Viktor sits up with a start, wincing as he grabs his side.

“Hana?!”

Yuuri turns too quickly, falling out of bed before scrambling to his feet.

Laughing, Hana flips on the light and throws her arms open. “Yuuri-kun!”

“Nee-chan!” Yuuri flings himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he buries his face in her shoulder. Despite his exuberance, he bursts into tears. She holds him close, clutches at his waist and the back of his head as she kisses his cheek. Both of them are crying now.

Viktor turns away as he lowers his feet to the floor, before standing up. It hurts, but not as much as it used to, and he’s only wearing a slight grimace when he walks around the bed. Looking up at him, Hana smiles.

“It's good to see you on your feet, Vitya.”

“Good to see you free,” Viktor replies. “Would you like some tea?”

“Please,” she says. “It's been a while since I've had good tea.” Nodding, Viktor kisses the top of Yuuri's head before wrapping his robe around his bare chest and tying it loosely.

“Vityusha,” Yuuri says, “snacks would be nice, too, I think.”

“I’ll ask for some. Green tea?”

Yuuri nods. “Whichever the chef recommends to go with the snacks.”

Nodding, Viktor grabs his phone and pulls up the app, inputting a request easily.

By the time the tea is brought in, he and Yuuri are both wearing pajamas and Yuuri is happily curled up against Hana on the couch. Viktor sits next to them, Makkachin draped across his lap. The attendants set out snacks, pour each of them a steaming cup, and bow before leaving the room.

 

Viktor wakes up two hours later, curled up around Makka. Hana and Yuuri are nowhere to be found when he props himself up on his good hand, but he sees them on the balcony after a cursory glance around. Sitting up doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would, nor does standing, and he pads over to the open balcony door.

Hana and Yuuri are talking. Yuuri, having presumably told her what happened while she was incarcerated has since moved on to telling her something about a meal he had that apparently was “some of the tastiest food he's had since he moved home.” Viktor shuffles out onto the stone floor of the balcony.

“Vitya!” Hana says, looking up. “We didn't want to wake you, sorry.”

Yuuri looks back. “Vitya, I was just telling Hana about the roast we had at your apartment.”

It should make Viktor happier than it does, but as it is he manages a smile. “I can go back in if you like, I know you guys need your time.”

After a glance at Hana, Yuuri looks back at him. “You don't need to. We can come back in, if you're going to be up, it’s getting chilly. Sea breeze and all.”

Guilt settles on Viktor's shoulders. First, he makes Yuuri move out to the cold of the night so he can talk without waking Viktor, and now he’s demanding Yuuri’s attention. “I’m still tired, I think I'm going to the bedroom to try to sleep some,” Viktor says, despite being more awake than ever.

“You sure? You don't have to,” Yuuri assures him, “we don't mind you being here. We’re just chatting about cooking and whatnot. Vitya is a very good cook,” he says to Hana.

Does he feel like he has to keep complimenting Viktor? The breeze brings new chill to the air, and he shivers even as he smiles. “Yeah, I'm terrible at staying up, you know this.”

Yuuri nods. “I'll be taking Hana to meet with Mari and my uncle tomorrow morning to update her on the investigations over coffee. You’re welcome to come with, but it’ll all be stuff you know.”

All that tells Viktor is his presence isn't necessary, probably isn't wanted. “I might take the time to get some rest,” he says. “Maybe walk Makkachin.”

“Alright,” Yuuri says, “I'll let you know where we are in case you want to join us.”

Viktor nods, walking over to Yuuri to lean down and press a kiss to his lips. Yuuri smiles when he pulls away.

“It doesn't hurt?”

“Just a bit,” Viktor replies, “but not much. My wrist hurts more now that the cast is off and I'm using it again.”

“My mother broke your wrist?” Hana asks.

“I fell on it… after she broke my ribs on the back of my couch.”

Hana winces. “That’s… Wow, that’s terrible, I'm—” She sighs. “I'm glad you feel better,” she says after a moment.

Only able to nod, Viktor glances between the two of them. He's already overstayed his welcome, he's sure, so he just smiles again and heads back inside.

Despite his best efforts, he isn't asleep when Yuuri comes to bed.

Nor is he asleep two hours later when Yuuri’s alarm goes off. Having been up all night, he doesn't wake until Viktor shakes his shoulder. After a brief kiss Yuuri, still groggy, rolls out of bed and rubs his face as he goes to shower.

When he comes out of the bathroom he takes a long moment, staring at Viktor.

“Vitya, did you sleep at all?”

“I slept,” Viktor says.

“After you talked to us on the balcony?”

Sighing, Viktor meets Yuuri’s eyes. “Not yet.”

Concerned, Yuuri’s face softens as he walks over to Viktor’s side of the bed, sitting on the edge. “Are you doing okay? Your sleep has been weird.”

“I'm alright.” He's not. He wants to tell Yuuri that he's feeling insecure, feeling like a waste of space, feeling like a _burden,_ but it’s always been hardest to ask for help. Yuuri has enough on his plate without Viktor being this needy.

Pursed lips tell Viktor Yuuri doesn't exactly believe him, but then Yuuri’s other alarm goes off and he leans over to give Viktor a kiss. “Should I ask someone to take Makkachin out?”

“Probably,” Viktor says. “I'm sleepy.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “I'll tell them to just come in and get Makka because you're not feeling well.”

It's more right than Yuuri knows. When Viktor nods his agreement and pulls the blankets up, Yuuri vanishes into the closet to get dressed.

Viktor’s asleep before he comes back out.

 

He wakes in the early evening to Makkachin breathing on his face and Yuuri’s soft voice calling his name in the dark.

“What is it?” Viktor asks as he turns on the bedside lamp.

“It's dinnertime, do you want to eat with my mom and Mari? I can ask for food to be brought if you’re not up for it.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Viktor says, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. It’s dark outside, the day is gone, and it feels like a waste, almost, as far as Viktor’s concerned. He got nothing done, couldn't even manage to take his own dog out for a walk and if _that_ isn't being useless, Viktor doesn't know what is. Despite a strong desire to crawl back under the covers and hide away, he knows Yuuri is likely hungry and also wants to eat with his family, so Viktor stands to get ready.

Dinner passes in a haze, almost. Viktor sits at the table in nice jeans and a button-up, picking at his food while conversation ebbs and flows around him. There are a few well-meaning inquiries from Hiroko and Mari, both of them implying he doesn't exactly look at his best, so he tries to smile more, laugh as he leans over and kisses his beloved’s cheek.

It doesn't help, and he can feel Yuuri’s eyes on him as he crawls into bed directly after their shower.

 

~*~

 

Days pass in a sort of disconnected rush of making a few appearances, smiling for the cameras through a perfect coat of makeup courtesy of the Palace’s stylists, and generally being as friendly as possible with the few guests he meets with. He sleeps in once, almost missing one of his meetings. Another, he shows up with barely a minute to spare, arriving to a near-frantic Yuuri pacing outside one of the parlors.

“Where were you?” he asks, straightening Viktor’s tie.

“I lost track of time, Lyubov,” Viktor murmurs. “I'm sorry.”

Nodding, Yuuri runs his fingers through Viktor’s bangs, smiles and tugs his lapels straight one more time before straightening his own waistcoat. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, glancing at the door.

“Are you sure? I can make something up if you aren't feeling well.”

“I'm _fine,”_ Viktor says. “Velichestvo, we’ll be late.”

Yuuri bites his lower lip, but nods. “Is my crown on straight?”

“As always.”

Going onto his tiptoes, Yuuri presses a kiss to Viktor’s lips and gestures for the footmen to announce them.

 

“Vityusha,” Yuuri starts as their guests drive away, “I—”

“I was thinking the baths tonight, Lyubov.” Smiling at Yuuri, he hopes he doesn't see it’s an attempt to distract, to make Yuuri think he’s feeling better than he is. The Head of Agriculture and his spouse were charmed, had found Viktor delightful, and Viktor’s best press smile had only helped. As far as he’s concerned, he’ll be out of this slump soon. He’ll be the fiancé Yuuri needs soon enough.

With unusual tenderness, Yuuri takes his hand. “That sounds nice,” he whispers. “After dinner? Or before?”

“Before sounds nice.” That way, once dinner’s over Viktor can crawl back into bed with his dog. He could claim a headache or an upset stomach or something. Stomach issues are likely to have him seeing the Royal Physician, though, so a migraine it is.

The baths end with him getting dizzy, and despite the lurching of the world around him as Yuuri helps him to their room, he can't help but be grateful his excuse for missing dinner is genuine.

 

~*~

 

Viktor lies on his side, staring out the open curtains into the starry night. He’s been here most of the day and the day before, outside of getting his wrist x-rayed and an uneventful physical therapy session. Makkachin’s been taken on walks, has taken to nosing at Viktor’s hand on occasion over the last few days. Sometimes he scratches Makka behind the ears, sometimes he doesn’t. Usually, though, Makkachin crawls into bed with him while Yuuri’s gone, but sometimes vanishes. Presumably visiting with Hiroko or Yuuri. Maybe Hana. Makkachin’s taking a liking to her, too, and seems to have had missed her while she was imprisoned.

Adjusting his position on the pillow, Viktor feels hairs on his cheek and chin rubbing uncomfortably against the silk as he settles in. Behind him, the door opens, and he expects an attendant asking him what he’d like for dinner. Instead, there’s the clack of the latches on the case for his crown, the shuffling of clothing as Yuuri changes. He dips into the bathroom, runs the sink for long enough Viktor wonders if he’s fallen asleep, and comes out, rubbing his head with a towel so far as Viktor can see in the dim reflection on the window.

The light is turned off, the room plunged into darkness, and Yuuri crawls into bed behind Viktor. There’s a gentle touch on his back, tentative and shaking, but it pulls away immediately when Viktor shivers. Yuuri touches gently again, silently asking permission, and when Viktor doesn’t pull away, he traces various shapes on his shoulder blade.

“May I hug you?” he asks, small and scared and with only the barest hint of hope.

Viktor nods his assent, and lets himself relax as one of Yuuri’s arms sneaks under his head, the other around his waist, and their legs tangle as Yuuri pulls closer. “Vitya,” he says, “my Vityusha, please…” breath hitching in his throat, Yuuri pulls himself tight against Viktor, buries his head in the nape of Viktor’s neck and his breath warms the skin near his mouth. “Please, talk to me,” Yuuri chokes out, and Viktor can feel tears on his bare skin. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” Yuuri says, “I don’t know how to help you.”

Somehow, this only makes Viktor feel worse. Yuuri’s already stressed, pulled all different ways and it’s wreaking havoc on his anxiety and all Viktor’s doing is contributing. He curls in on himself. Buries his face in his pillow and tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him to go back to Russia, go back to Yekaterinburg where he belongs.

But does he? Is there room anymore in his childhood home or has his family moved on without him, grown into something independent to which he has only tentative connections? Do they want him there to begin with? _“Come back to Yekaterinburg, come see us,”_ Alexei had said. They want him around would be the logical conclusion but… the last breakup he’d had had resulted in him not sleeping properly, not getting involved with people, with his family, and they’d taken to a sort of overprotectiveness ever since, as if at any sort of emotional upheaval he’ll suddenly forget how to take care of himself and need someone to do it for him.

It’s not that he forgets nowadays. He just doesn’t care.

He shrugs, pulls the blanket over his face, and sighs. “I’ll be fine, Yuuri,” he says. “I’ll be alright.” It’s empty and distant and he knows it, but sleep’s coming over him again as Yuuri pulls him close, buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder and does his best to hide the fact that Viktor’s making him cry. Again.

Viktor never wanted to make him cry and he lets guilt pull him into an uneasy sleep. Yuuri has meetings tomorrow. Yuuri will be leaving, and Viktor will be alone once more.

 

~*~

 

Late morning sun hits Viktor’s face and the blanket shifts over him as he turns. Forgetting to close the curtains last night was a mistake, and instead of waking up in a blessedly dark room he’s being forced to confront the fact that it’s daylight. He has to pee, and he uses the urgency to roll out of bed, shuffling blearily to the bathroom. Washing his hands, he notices the few days’ growth of facial hair on his cheeks, too long to be called ‘stubble’ in good conscience. It could use some maintenance, but all Viktor does is run his fingers through the hairs absently, scratching at his jaw, before he leaves to crawl back into bed.

At first, he’s confused at the moving mop of dark hair on the other pillow. Makkachin is nowhere to be found, presumably being fed or something, and even so, his hair’s not that dark. Or silky. The blob of blankets sits up to reveal Yuuri, rubbing at his face as he looks towards Viktor’s side of the bed. He freezes, looking quickly around the room before he sees Viktor and smiles softly.

“Vitya,” he says and it’s breathy, full of a love that just tears a bit more at Viktor’s heart. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve someone who’s just going to let him brush off their concern, who’s selfish, holes up in his room all day. There’s a job to be done, and he’s not doing it, not going out with Yuuri, not smiling and showing up at appearances to make the Royal Family look good and it’s only going to be a matter of time before Yuuri’s forced to dump him. If he doesn’t serve his purpose, he’s of no use to anyone.

Yuuri walks towards him, arms open, and Viktor finds himself pulling away. He can see the instant Yuuri’s heart shatters, the instant he realizes the depth of what’s going on. Yuuri’s touch has always been a source of comfort to him and Yuuri knows it.

And now, Yuuri sees him avoiding it and if Viktor was any sort of decent fiancé, he’d rush forward, pulling Yuuri into his arms as he whispers apologies for needing space, apologies for denying Yuuri the touch he so clearly wants.

So many people have wanted to touch Viktor, and he closes his eyes, swallows his memories. Yuuri’s different. Yuuri’s not like that, has only ever loved Viktor for who he was. Staring, Yuuri’s eyes don’t leave Viktor as he plods around the foot of the bed, crawls into the blankets on the other side. The sun’s too bright in his face, but he closes his eyes and does his best to ignore it.

“Vityusha,” he hears as a weight settles heavy on the other side of the bed. “Vitya, why don't you come walk Makkachin with me? He’s almost done eating, he’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“My chest hurts,” Viktor mumbles, and it’s true, though not enough to prevent him getting out of bed.

He could do with some fresh air, though.

“We can have tea outside,” Yuuri suggests, “I think getting air will do you some good, Vitya. The flowers are beautiful. The fountains are gorgeous. You could take a book, read to me if you want, and Makkachin can have some time outside.”

Of course. Helping his still-recovering fiancé is an excellent look for the King of Akitsushima. Yuuri’s supposed to appear caring, generous, patient, kind, and escorting Viktor, injured as he is, around the gardens would be the perfect way to reinforce his image. Viktor sighs, trying to blink away the doubt. “The staff can take Makkachin. They’ll bring him back.”

“Well,” Yuuri says with a tremor in his voice, “well, _I’d_ like to go out to the gardens.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Viktor replies before he can stop himself. Just because he’s feeling particularly inadequate at the moment he looks over his shoulder, into Yuuri’s glistening eyes. “No one’s _going_ to stop you,” he bites out, turning to face the window again.

“I…” Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat. “I’d like to go with _you.”_

“Is that an order?” The words are out of his mouth before he’s had a moment to even think about what he’s saying. He can’t recall a time, ever, where Yuuri’s given him a direct order. Never over the course of their relationship has Yuuri told him to do something and meant it. Then, Viktor remembers Ostrava. Remembers having his schedule dictated to him, being told he was leaving much earlier than planned. No one had asked his opinion, no one had cared enough to, and Yuuri hadn’t even apologized.

“I’ve never given you an order,” Yuuri says as if he’s reigning in his real thoughts. Viktor doesn’t deserve honesty, he knows, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. “I’d never, Vitya, you know this.” The blanket is pulled back up, but he still hears Yuuri’s shaky breathing, the hitch in his throat as he tries to word whatever response he’s got. “Are you mad at me? Have I upset you?”

“No,” Viktor says. It’s true, Yuuri hasn’t _done_ anything, but then, he still feels angry sometimes when he sees him. Yuuri’s never going to understand, Yuuri’s never going to know what it is to be inadequate. Lesser. Common. He’d had years of playing the part, yes, but in all those years he never once was genuinely unimportant. He can’t understand, can barely comprehend how it feels to be the literal bottom of the barrel to the same people who practically worship your fiancé. Yuuri’s spent most of his life as the second most important person in his home country, and Viktor’s had to crawl his way to the top.

Yuuri sighs again. “Can I do anything to help? We can work on physical therapy exercises. Your therapist taught me how to do them. You won’t be able to skate as well if you neglect therapy.”

“They’ll get over not having me to watch,” Viktor mutters. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“No.” Yuuri says. “I had my schedule cleared. Officially, I’ve come down with a cold.” There’s a feeble thrill that goes through Viktor at the words, knowing Yuuri’s forcibly opened time to spend with him. Until it’s engulfed by guilt that now, not only has he made Yuuri cry but he’s interfering with Yuuri’s job, making it so he can’t govern properly. Viktor’s too needy, he’s been told. Too much. It’s a matter of time before Yuuri realizes this, too.

“Why didn’t you just tell the truth?” Viktor asks. “Taking care of your injured fiancé looks better.” The weight leaves the bed, and Viktor knows he’s messed up. Yuuri’s walking around the bed, coming to… Viktor’s not sure what he’s going to do but he can’t force himself to believe it’ll be good. Closing his eyes tightly, he nuzzles into the pillow, trying to ignore the shadow falling over his face and it’s over now.

Everything is going to end when Yuuri figures out that Viktor’s not who he thought he was, that he’s not the self-assured suave world-class athlete Yuuri’d thought he’d fallen in love with. No, Viktor’s a mess in the form of a human being, a confusing jumble of emotions, of awful, terrible thoughts and too much doubt for it to be healthy. Viktor’s barely holding it together, and that’s not what’s required of a future King-Consort. Not what Yuuri wants in one he’s sure, and the fear shifts, writhing, into an uncontrollable terror.

“Can I touch your cheek, Vityusha?”

Viktor nods, resisting the urge to lift his cheek into Yuuri’s palm. He’s going to lose everything if he can’t pull himself together.

“Is that what you think you are?” Yuuri asks, voice soft, gentle, full of a love that pulls tears into Viktor’s eyes. “Do you just think you’re here to look good on my arm?”

“You did say all I had to do was look pretty,” Viktor whispers. It’s barely audible, but there’s an intake of air, presumably as Yuuri remembers the conversation in the days after their arrival.

“Vitya, that… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Viktor replies, because he does, somewhere. It doesn’t stop the voice saying Yuuri meant it in the same way as everyone else. Smile. Look pretty, you don’t need brains. Just play with your hair, answer the questions (but not too honestly), and generally look friendly. He bites his lip. Yuuri’s never valued him only for looks, never valued him for what he could offer, he _knows_ this. Yuuri _loves_ him. Why can’t he make himself _believe_ that?

“I’m worried about you,” Yuuri whispers.

“I’m fine,” Viktor responds with an almost hysterical lilt. “I’ll be fine, Yuuri.” His voice comes out full of fear and apprehension because Viktor is terrified, now that he thinks about it. Terrified Yuuri will dump him. Terrified of becoming King-Consort. Terrified that everything will go wrong and that everything will go right and that he’ll be figured out as the fraud he is. He’s terrified of never finding his emotions again and of finding them and he curls in on himself in a desperate attempt to contain his fear. Yuuri loves him, he has to. He’s said so. Yuuri’s promised the world, promised that he never wanted anyone but Viktor, but there’s no way to _know._

Viktor has so little to offer, so little to contribute aside from his own fame, his own face and his body and the skills that have catapulted him into the public eye.

He has so little genuine worth and he’s absolutely horrified at the thought someone might figure that out.

“I’m… I’m going to crawl back into bed with you,” Yuuri says softly. “You don’t have to turn. You don’t have to look at me, but I’m going to crawl into bed and I’m going to tell you how much I love you.” The warmth on Viktor’s cheek vanishes and he barely stifles a choked gasp. As much as he hates the contact he craves it, craves Yuuri’s embrace but he just can’t. He can’t, not when he’s just waiting for the end. There’s a weight behind him, and Yuuri pulls the blanket up over himself.

“I love you,” he says softly. “I haven’t said that enough, I don’t think. Have I told you how much I love your laugh? How your smile makes my heart soar? I love how gentle and kind you are, especially with Makkachin and kids. Have I told you how sweet it was that instead of making fun of me for blowing up a pressure cooker, you offered to teach me to cook? And didn’t act like I was stupid for not knowing?”

Something in Viktor’s heart tears itself open, screams at him to turn over and cling to Yuuri, but instead he just curls in tighter.

“Can I hold you?” Yuuri asks. Soft, hesitant, he’s never been so scared to ask for contact, to ask if he can merely touch Viktor but right now he’s making no moves without permission. Viktor doesn’t answer, and Yuuri sighs. “I’ve always meant to thank you,” he continues, “for helping me get through the time after my dad died, but I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to be at the expense of your health.”

“I can make my own decisions,” Viktor bites and immediately regrets it.

“I know that,” Yuuri says, gentle and undeterred. “I just don’t want you to feel like you come second. And… you need to know that I want you. _All_ of you, good and bad. Not Viktor Nikiforov the figure skater, not just your face or your hair, but _you,_ no matter what, because you're _my_ Vityusha and I _love_ you.”

Something in Viktor begins to crack, that maddening barrier between him and his emotions that has him feeling so numb.

“I love your heart” Yuuri continues. “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re thinking and the faces you make when you’re devouring a new book. I love how you hum when you cook and how you dote on Makka and I love how you genuinely try to be nice to people even when you’re having a bad day. I love your kindness, I love your creativity and your determination, I love your thoughtfulness, I love how you try your best to make me feel like I'm not a burden but you aren't either. You're _not_ a burden and you're not a prize to be won and I'm so sorry you ever felt like you were.”

Rolling over, Viktor is met with the sight of Yuuri hurriedly scrubbing at his eyes. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says fervently. His hand moves towards Viktor, then back toward his chest because he apparently doesn’t want to touch. Doesn’t want to feel and Viktor finds himself staring at his hand. “I mean every word, Vityusha,” Yuuri whispers. “You know, Duke Murakami asked me, point-blank, why I was bothering with all of the supposed ‘trouble’ of our relationship?”

“What’d you say?” Viktor allows himself to move closer, and when his hand grips Yuuri’s shirt Yuuri looks at him in silent question. Viktor nods, and he almost cries when he feels Yuuri’s arms wrap around him, pulling him close almost desperately.

Heart thrumming in his chest, Viktor can barely breathe and he clings to Yuuri’s shirt, waiting to see if he’ll answer. He’s not disappointed. “I said,” Yuuri replies, “that I met the most amazing man in America. That he loves me for who I am. I met a man who’s brilliant and capable and caring and so, _so_ incredibly good. His Excellency said that it’s all very well and good that I love you so much but wondered very directly if you’d love me just as much if I wasn’t King. Do you want to know what I said?”

Nodding, Viktor pushes his forehead into Yuuri’s chest, lets himself drift into the same breathing rhythm, grounding himself against Yuuri as he talks. “I said, Vityusha, that I knew for a fact you would. Because you _did.”_ Running his fingers through Viktor’s hair, he presses another kiss to his forehead.

“You loved me when all the good I could do you was caffeine at the end of the day. You loved me when I had nothing to offer, when I wanted to avoid the parts of your life beyond just skating and the time we spent together. You loved me, unconditionally, when you thought I was nobody important, and I told him that. I told him I’m absolutely sure I want to marry you. That was one of the last of the arguments.”

“What’d he say?”

“He dropped it. I haven’t heard a word since, and it’s been almost a month.” _A month? That long?_ Viktor sighs. But then, it’s only a month ago Yuuri had people still trying to persuade him away from their relationship.

“How long?” Viktor says softly. “How long have you been arguing with people like that?”

“About being with you?” Yuuri asks. When Viktor nods, he sighs. “Since the start. It let up a bit after the attack, but…”

“How often?”

Pursing his lips, Yuuri sighs. “At the beginning it was almost daily. It wasn’t as bad for a while, just a couple of times a month, but it’s never really stopped until recently.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Viktor asks.

“I didn’t want you to feel like a burden,” Yuuri whispers. “You had so much on your mind, I didn’t want you to feel like you were a problem. I thought if you knew how often I had to fight for us, that you’d just…”

“Leave?”

“No, I- I don’t know how to put it,” Yuuri says softly. “I thought you’d think I’d start to resent you or something.”

“Have you?” Viktor asks. Scared that the answer will be ‘yes,’ he tries to crush the fear under the hope that it’d be a ‘no,’ as fruitless as it seems.

“Never,” is the answer and Viktor pulls back, eyes wide. Smiling down at him, Yuuri’s expression is full of earnest love, a tenderness that pulls at Viktor’s chest until he can barely breathe. “Vitya,” Yuuri continues, “I knew from the start that it would be a fight if we got serious. It’s why I tried to get you cleared early, so we could prepare. So I could start working on making things easier for us. If you wanted to stay. But… I never expected this to be easy for me. I'd only hoped I could make it as easy for you as possible.”

Nodding, Viktor lets himself settle into Yuuri’s arms. “Do we have anything to do today?”

“No,” he answers. “I told my mom and Mari that you weren’t feeling well and we’d be taking our meals in our room. If you’d rather we not—”

“No, I—” Viktor sighs.

“Don’t want to deal with people?” Yuuri asks, brushing Viktor’s bangs out of his eyes. Viktor nods. Smiling, Yuuri kisses his forehead.

“That’s fine,” he says. “They won’t be upset, we’ll stay in here tonight. I'm not expected back at my offices today.”

 

~*~

 

Yuuri jumps when Viktor enters the sitting room the next morning.

“Vitya, I'm- I would have been in bed with you, I just…” He holds up papers by way of explanation.

“It's fine,” Viktor murmurs, curling up on the couch next to Yuuri. It's nice leaning on his fiancé with little more than a dull ache, and when he rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, he gets a kiss on the top.

“I can call for tea,” Yuuri says. “Or I could go down and make us some coffee if you wanted to shower.”

“Tea,” Viktor says into Yuuri’s neck. He wants Yuuri's coffee but he doesn't want to be _alone,_ not when he’s on the brink of thinking too much again.

Pulling out his phone, Yuuri inputs the request to the kitchens before putting his arm around Viktor’s shoulders.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks.

“Better, sort of,” Viktor says. “Not good, but not quite as bad as I was.” It's hard to describe how the despondent numbness has faded into a soft melancholy, how even though he can feel the depression, clinging at the edges of his consciousness, it's no longer all-encompassing. “You can keep working.”

“Mmm, you sure?”

Draping himself over his fiancé, Viktor nods. Yuuri needs to work, and Viktor just needs the closeness, not attention. The attendant arrives and pours their tea, Viktor adds sugar and milk, handing Yuuri his while he continues to look over whatever it is he’s reading.

“It's perfect,” Yuuri says after taking a sip, “thank you.”

Humming into Yuuri’s neck, Viktor settles closer and closes his eyes.

He wakes to soft kisses on his forehead.

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, “it's time for lunch.”

Groaning, Viktor wraps his arms and one leg around Yuuri. “I'm comfortable,” he mutters.

“I'm glad,” Yuuri says softly. “If you want to eat in here, we can, but my mom wanted to eat on the terrace of her apartments today.”

“Private?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri nods. “We could get away with jeans and t-shirts if you like. I wouldn't mind.”

“That sounds good.” Viktor’s already in jeans and a t-shirt, with fuzzy socks to boot, so there wouldn't be any extra energy to get changed. Pulling out his phone again, Yuuri sends off a text.

“I told my mother and Mari to dress as casually as they’re comfortable with,” he says. “Hopefully we won't be too severely underdressed.”

Viktor raises his eyebrow when he looks at Yuuri, and Yuuri smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It doesn't matter, to be honest. We're going to be in private and I've had a discussion with the Director of the Household about the formality expected in our private lives.”

“Were they upset with me?”

The way Yuuri looks at him is somehow both loving and sorrowful. “No, Vityusha,” he says. “I told them you were more than happy to stick to the prescribed dress code. I just want to be able to walk around in my own house without being dressed to the nines when I don't have to be.”

“It’s a _palace,”_ Viktor mutters. No matter how hard he tries or how at ease he is, it feels very different from a house.

“It's my _home,”_ Yuuri says quietly. “I want to be comfortable walking around the place I grew up. God knows I spent long enough waiting to come back here.”

Viktor kisses his cheek. Whether in reassurance or apology, he doesn't know, but Yuuri returns the kiss, smiling. “I think lunch is sandwiches and french fries.”

“Sounds nice. Refreshingly simple.”

“It does, huh? What's your favorite kind of pop? I'll ask my sister to get some.”

“Orange soda I think, I don't drink much soda.”

“Iced tea?”

Viktor gives him a look. “No.”

Laughing, Yuuri stands and holds out his hand. “Let’s go to lunch, my Vityusha.”

“You don’t need to grab a crown?”

Grinning, Yuuri shakes his head. “I’ll be alright without.”

 

“It's good to see you, Vicchan,” Hiroko says when they go through the doors, unannounced, onto the terrace. Neither she nor Mari stand, though, and the relief on Yuuri’s face says that's all to do with him. They take their seats at two of the four sides of the square table. Hiroko is still dressed in a kimono, though it’s plainer than her usual fare by far. Mari, though, is wearing jeans and a t-shirt layered under an open plaid button-up.

She smiles when she notices Viktor staring. “I know what jeans are,” she laughs.

“I just wasn't aware that you _owned_ any,” Viktor responds, before sighing. “Sorry for my recent absence, I wasn't feeling well.”

“If you weren't feeling well, don't apologize,” Hiroko replies. “We don't want you pushing yourself further than you're comfortable.”

Viktor nods. The late summer breeze is nice, the sun is shining, though not directly on them and it's a surprisingly beautiful day. Makkachin curls up on a nearby dog bed, snoring lightly, and Yuuri wraps his fingers around Viktor’s as it rests on the table.

“We’re allowed?” Viktor asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, nodding. “It's always going to be more formal than like, Detroit, but I’m not going to live the rest of my life without being able to hold my husband’s hand outside of the bedroom. We ought to be able to relax, some.”

“Yuuri basically had them designate the entire upper part of the residential wing as private. Any guests we have in the apartments here in our wing are going to be people we’d ask to treat us casually as it is, so it makes more sense.”

Viktor looks at his fiancé.

“It’s true,” Yuuri confirms. “Like, there was Yura and Georgi, Phichit, your mom, we’ll have your entire family staying here before the wedding and I’m not going to make _them_ bow and scrape at me all day…”

Nodding, Viktor sits back. He doesn't let go of Yuuri’s hand as the attendants bring their drinks out, followed shortly by their food, and it’s only when they start eating that he does.

“So it'll be more casual in the residential wing?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah. Like private-private casual upstairs. Downstairs is like… A bit more formal but still private. You'll get it, you'll be okay. If for some reason we’ll need to be more formal, like a private tour or visiting Head of State, everyone will be made well aware. You'll be fine.”

“Are you feeling any better, Vicchan?” Hiroko looks concerned, not unlike Viktor’s own mothers, and for a moment he feels bad for making her worry before she takes his hands in hers. “You don't have to say ‘yes’ if you aren't.”

They share a long moment, Viktor searching her face for any sign of false sincerity, before he nods. “A bit,” he says. “I'm hoping getting back out and doing things helps more though.”

“I hope so, too,” she says. “We should have tea together sometimes, just you and I. Makkachin, of course, would be welcome to join but Yuuri and Mari can entertain themselves for a bit on occasion. It’ll do them some good.”

“That sounds nice,” Viktor murmurs, glancing at Yuuri. Though half expecting a frown on his fiancé’s face, he’s glad to see a smile.

“Let me know,” Yuuri says, “I can make myself scarce.”

Mari leans forward. “You realize there’s plenty of time when you're working, right?”

“I was being _nice,”_ Yuuri says before he turns to Viktor. “Well, if you ever want me to give you time with someone just let me know, even if it’s our family.”

Viktor glances at Hiroko and Mari, but the waitstaff come to refresh their drinks. Once they’re gone, Hiroko rubs Viktor’s hand again.

“Vicchan, you're very dear to us,” she says, “I want to make sure you know we love you very much.” His eyebrow must twitch, because she cups his cheek in hand, leans him over, and kisses his forehead. “We do.”

Choked up, all Viktor can do is nod as he looks at his plate. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain he knows they love him but _hearing it_ helps more than he’d thought it would. Even after everything, they’re still here, still want to have him around, are still okay with him marrying Yuuri. Arms wrap gently around him from behind.

“You're my little brother too, you know,” Mari says near his ear. “This is what you signed up for agreeing to marry Yuuri. You get me. Probably Hana, too, if we’re being honest.”

Though Viktor gives the most minute nod, Mari seems to understand, squeezing him gently around his shoulders before taking her seat.

By the time the food comes out, they’re chatting about schedules and upcoming events, about a few late-summer parties they’ve been invited to, and one or two celebrating the fall. There’s a staggering number of events the Royal Family makes appearances at, but the work is split up evenly among the members. Isamu’s family mostly takes the eastern side of the country, being based on that coast, while the main branch tends to cover a good portion of the west. Viktor is considered part of the main branch, and Hiroko tells him to prepare for a week or two abroad on occasion, often with herself or Mari.

It’ll be nice to have something to do.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I need to tell the Palace to schedule me normally.”

“Oh? Full schedule or do you want to ease back in?”

“Ease back in, some,” Viktor answers, grateful that Yuuri isn't questioning him outright. “I need to be busy, or I get kind of stir-crazy.”

“I see,” Yuuri hums. “You may need the doctor to clear you for normal duties before they’ll schedule you like that though.”

“Have you looked at the calendar?” Mari asks. “They likely have tentative plans already made.”

Pulling out his phone, Viktor opens the app for the first time in three days. There aren't many events scheduled over the next few weeks, whether it's because he’s been skipping out on so many or because there just aren't a lot of appearances to be making it isn't clear, but Viktor agrees to all of them.

 

“You’re free after practice tomorrow, right?” Yuuri asks as they walk back to their rooms.

“I am.”

“Will you come by my formal office when you're ready? I have a meeting with my uncle and Mari over breakfast, then the nobility just after lunch, then Oji-san says he can stay and explain… the stuff you missed. When you were… sleeping.”

It occurs to Viktor that he’s never actually confirmed what Yuuri seems to know already.

“It's depression.”

Yuuri kisses him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“When I’m feeling better.” He’s grateful Yuuri doesn't press the issue. “I can come by your office after practice. The formal one, you said?”

“Yeah. Feel free to just come in when you’re ready, I should be finishing up if I'm not already done.”

“Alright, I will. What’s going on?”

“We could have a breakthrough any day now, any _hour._ Vitya, we’re close, we’re so incredibly close.”

“I've missed a lot?”

“Yeah. We… Yoshida, you remember him? When they asked me to kill Kataoka-san, he was the one who came forward first.” Viktor nods. “We’ve found some suspicious stuff about him and my team is looking into things, they’ll report in to my uncle if they find anything. I hear there’s something intriguing about the tech and- Vitya, it's almost _over.”_

Sighing, Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand. “ I'm ready for the nightmare to be over.”

“Me, too.” Yuuri presses a kiss to Viktor’s shoulder. “I'm trying my best.”

“I know, you can’t do everything and you have a lot on your mind.”

“I want us to have a vacation sometime,” Yuuri says. “One where we can just relax. Not have to focus on anything. I'll make Mari and Isamu-ji rule the country for a bit, I'm tired.”

“It may not be until after the season ends in spring.” Viktor says.

“At the very latest we’ll have the honeymoon. A week at the summer palace, a week at your moms’ house, then the destination of our choosing for a week or two.”

“That’s a lot,” Viktor says.

“That’s a Royal Honeymoon,” Yuuri replies, “and I'm the monarch. And we _deserve_ a break, after all of this. I've barely had any time off at all and the time _you've_ had off has been filled with pain because you were getting over your ribs and stuff.”

“How long did you rest after the attack?”

There's a short hiss. “I was back in the office the day after we got back.”

“You need a break,” Viktor says.

“I'll be okay.”

“Yuuri.”

“Not in the hallway.”

Right. There are still rules and they don’t need to have their arguments in the hallway. Hooking his arm into Yuuri’s, they take the last turn into their little wing. The silence is tense, but not like their last fight. In a way, it's almost comfortable.

They get to their rooms, close the door behind them, Makka trots over to his bed when they head into the bedroom, and Yuuri sighs.

“I can't afford a break right now.” Yuuri shucks off his jeans, switching them out for long cotton pants. “I just can’t, not with the investigations. Not with the legislature I'm dealing with. I just. I can't.”

“You can take a few days soon, I'm sure.”

“I'm doing alright, Vitya!”

“Yuuri, I'm not saying you have to right now, but _soon._ Before the wedding, for sure. You've been under too much stress for far too long.”

“I haven't even been home a year, that’s not long.”

“You're telling me you weren't stressed in the months before that? The years you were gone? Lyubov, you haven't had a real break since you were eight years old!”

Freezing, Yuuri looks down at the floor. Pulling his shirt off, Yuuri walks into their dressing room and comes back out with a t-shirt. “I honestly don’t think I know how,” he whispers, putting his shirt on.

“What?”

“I don’t know how to just. Relax. It’s not something I ever really… learned and I think that’s stressing me out.”

“I'll be with you,” Viktor says, “you'll be alright.”

“What?”

“I'll… help? Was that the wrong thing to say?”

“No, no,” Yuuri murmurs, “it just… it’s ridiculous. Not knowing how to take a proper break. Like cleaning a bathroom, _everyone_ knows how.”

“If they have _experience,”_ Viktor retorts. “I'm not _surprised_ by this, Lyubov moya. It's not uncommon for you to get more anxious when you aren't doing anything, and I don't… It doesn't make me see you badly. I can clean a house because my moms taught me how and I had chores as a kid, and I had downtime on a regular basis. Your chores involved learning to rule the country rather than household management, while also being diligent to make sure no one guessed at the truth.”

There's a moment in which Yuuri is frozen in pensive silence, before he nods.

“I shouldn't feel bad for not knowing something I've never learned.”

“Exactly!” Viktor pulls Yuuri close, kissing the top of his head. “I'm here, Lyubov. You can ask for help.”

“I'll try.”

 

~*~

 

The hum of Ice Castle's industrial air conditioner is immediately comforting as Viktor walks into the rink. Takeshi meets him at the boards and bows.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he says with a grin, “welcome back!”

“‘Viktor’ is fine, Takeshi-san,” he replies, “and it's good to be back.”

Unsurprisingly, the triplets peek out from behind him.

“Are you gonna skate?” Axel asks.

Viktor nods. “I am.”

“Is your chest feeling better?” Loop looks worried.

“Mostly. I'm not going to do anything fancy, just skate in circles for a bit.”

Lutz looks down at her feet. She's wearing her skates, her sisters are, too, and Viktor smiles. “Would you three like to join me?”

Their eyes widen as they look at each other, grins splitting their faces. “Really?” Lutz asks.

“Mhmm!” Viktor confirms. “I'm not doing much. Let's see what you three can do!”

“Are you sure, Viktor?” Takeshi asks.

“I really don’t mind,” he replies. “I can't really train yet, and they look eager to skate.” Looking back at the girls, he claps his hand once and rocks back on one foot. “On the ice, then!”

They scramble to take off their hard guards, taking to the ice with glee. Viktor nods at Takeshi, hiding gratitude in a fun-loving smile. It was skate with the girls or skate alone, and unless he has a routine to get absorbed in he tends to think too much. He takes a deep breath before he very gingerly leans over and takes off his guards. Final checks of his brace say it’s secure, and for the first time in over two months, Viktor feels the satisfying crunch of the ice under his blade.

 

“You seem better,” Yulian says in Russian as they get in the car.

“It's good to be back,” Viktor replies. “I missed doing things.”

“Good to hear, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Yulian. You saved my life. In private, I think…”

“Viktor?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “We're both Russian.”

“Vitya?”

Viktor nods. “Thank you. If you hadn't… I could have died. I could have lost _Yuuri.”_

“I’m glad I was there.” Nothing in his face says it isn't the honest truth, and they share a smile.

“Oh, Vitya. His Majesty sent a formal request for you to wear the suit he’s had laid out for you. Something about making the right impression.”

“A formal request?”

Yulian shrugs. “The guard is in a tizzy too, all the higher-ups showed up out of nowhere a couple of hours ago. Perhaps to talk to the King. Hana has information but she can't share it with me.”

“I'm supposed to be briefed on the stuff I missed, they could be part of that.”

“I'm not sure,” Yulian admits, “but we’ll be at the Palace in a moment.”

Nodding, Viktor looks out the window as they drive through the old city center. The windows of the car are heavily tinted, but it seems people aren't unaccustomed to the distinctive black cars of the Royal Family’s private fleet. Some stop and watch the car pass, a few nod pointedly in the car’s direction.

“They must think I'm Yuuri,” he muses.

“What makes you say that?”

In answer, Viktor gestures at the window and the people on the street while they sit at a crosswalk.

“Mmm, I'm not so sure,” Yulian says. “They know where the rink is, they saw the car going to and from every day, they know you skate. I wouldn't be surprised if they were aware of to whom they’re bowing.”

“Oh.” Looking back out, Viktor observes the people of Akitsushima, the people he will soon rule alongside his fiancé. They seem ready for him, _welcoming_ to him. Yuuri, especially with his sister’s input, is a very good gauge of his people’s attitude, and more than once he’d assured Viktor the people of Akitsushima are happy about his joining the Royal Family. Between this drive, his appearances, and the people at the Botanical Gardens, Viktor can almost believe it.

 

The suit on the bed when Viktor gets home is black with a dark grey waistcoat, the tie a deep red, and something in it screams intimidation. It's harsher than Viktor would normally choose, but the fact that Yuuri had expressly asked him to wear it tells him they need to make a crucial impression.

He pulls off his clothing and changes. As usual, the suit fits perfectly, cutting his body into severe lines. With his height he knows he’ll look imposing, and as he brushes pomade through his hair his body settles into something that strikes him as distinctly _royal._ One final run of his fingers through his bangs, a last adjustment to his waistcoat and tie, and he’s ready.

Before going to leave, he takes a look at himself in the mirror, notes the set of his shoulders and the way he holds his jaw and he smiles. Minako has done well. _He_ has done well, has grown to fill the role he’s taken on, and for the first time in too long, he feels that spark of surety he’d almost forgotten.

He's Viktor Nikiforov.

He’s Russia’s National Hero, the Living Legend of the sport he’s devoted everything to.

He will be Akitsushima’s first foreign, first _common-born,_ King-Consort when he’s married one of the most pivotal monarchs in the nation's history.

He’s ready.

 

Whatever Viktor expects when he steps into Yuuri’s formal office, it’s certainly not shouting, and certainly not by a great many people. Members of the nobility and cabinet are standing around the room in groups shouting over and at each other, with Yuuri sitting at his desk with an ice-cold glare. Keeping himself unobtrusive, Viktor moves to the side, standing in a corner by two bookshelves.

“She and her accomplice tried to murder our sovereign in cold blood, and Takeda-san with her if the evidence is to be believed!” Murakami says. “This is High Treason of the worst sort! Execute the lot of them, I say.”

“I do not take orders!” Yuuri barks in a dangerous tone. The room falls silent. “I'd like to make something clear,” he continues. “Had I followed the course of action proposed by some of the people in this very room and had Kataoka-san executed, we would not have had the breakthrough that brought us to this point.” Looking around the room, his eyes come to rest on each of the nobles that had made the request, lingering on Yoshida. “I have my reasons for proceeding in the way I feel is best, and I have stated before that I _will_ allow the judicial system to do its job and I will not take a person’s life to make a point.”

“Sire,” Sakamoto says, “we were merely going by precedent, I can assure you. Akitsushiman tradition has very little tolerance for such heinous acts, even as it is far more lenient in matters of opinion. Many of your predecessors, from the very beginning of your line, would not have hesitated to see such actions as justifying the death penalty.”

“Let me get this straight,” Yuuri says, standing. “I am not a relic of Akitsushima’s noble past and royal lineage. I am not a _relic_ to be polished and preserved as just another in a long line, to stand on a pedestal as a shining example of the essence of what it means to be Akitsushiman. I am a _legacy._ I am the legacy of centuries of rule over this country. I am a legacy of millenia of tradition and culture, passed down diligently from generation to generation, evolving with each. The legacy I have inherited is not the same as the one my father inherited, nor is it the same as the one I will leave, but I can only hope that the change I bring is beneficial.”

Yoshida moves towards Yuuri’s desk. “Sire, your people have taken so much from you, have asked so much of you, that for your very subjects to betray your esteemed self like thi—”

“One has to wonder,” Yuuri interrupts, “why it is you’ve repeatedly disrespected the direct wishes of your sovereign while you claim loyalty to the Crown, Yoshida-san.” Walking around the desk, tall and imposing, he moves to stand in front of the man. “One has to wonder,” Yuuri says, dangerous and predatory as his crown glitters atop his head, “why it is you’ve been the most vocal person as far as demanding Kataoka Atsuko’s death, going so far as to get yourself a following before bringing your suggestion to me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sire,” Yoshida says.

Leveling him with a steely glare, Yuuri clasps his hands behind his back. “One has to wonder if there was something you are trying to hide, having one of the key accomplices silenced permanently.”

“I’m sorry?”

Yuuri looks almost deadly, like a trap he set is in the process of claiming its prey. “I know you’re friendly with Takeda,” he says, “and I know Takeda threatened my fiancé. I know you’ve been the most vocal since the start about bringing swift justice down on dissenters.”

Scared, the noble’s eyes flit around the room, taking in the guarded expressions of those around him, and then the guard, standing silently along the walls. They’d filed in almost unnoticed in the chaos, and Viktor nods, impressed. Yoshida begins to back away, bowing to Yuuri.

“Sire, I can assure you, I—”

“I know, too,” Yuuri continues, undeterred, “that you gave Miura Tomiko-san instructions to install an app on Kataoka Hana-san’s phone, which you then triggered to freeze the phone remotely from a phone registered to your valet.”

Viktor’s eyes widen.

Though Yoshida had stepped away, Yuuri moves closer again. “I know,” he says, “that your valet’s family has worked for yours for a long time, has been _loyal_ to yours for a long time, and that his mother worked in the palace kitchens, ending just under fifteen years ago, and do you want to know something I _remember?”_

“Yes, Sire,” Yoshida says, now almost backed into a corner. He has no option but to go along with Yuuri at this point, to do otherwise would only damn him further.

“Her cookies,” Yuuri says. “I remember her giving them to me when I’d visit the kitchens as a child. I remember her sending them with me on trips when we thought I’d get homesick.”

“Is that so?” Yoshida squeaks.

In a show of indifference and a distinct lack of fear, Yuuri turns his back on Yoshida for a moment. “I remember how much I grew to love them, and I remember being glad when I opened a box at an event and saw them, down to the same sugar glaze on the top. Tell me,” he says, turning around, “did you attend school at the Royal Academy about fifteen years ago?”

Yoshida blanches, looks around the room quickly as Yuuri advances on him again.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, “you don’t have to answer. We have your school records, that was a rhetorical question, I know you did. The real question is, did you know at the time that your gift to the Crown Prince, cookies your father’s valet’s wife had made, was poisoned?”

_What._

“I can assure you,” Yoshida says, “I- At the time, of course, I didn’t know and—”

“Did you know before I said anything?”

For a long moment, Yoshida just stands where he is, unsure what to do from here. Yuuri has evidence, Yuuri wouldn’t be making these sorts of accusations unless he could back them up without question.

An attendant steps into the room. “Your Majesty, Earl Takeda here as you requested.”

Nodding, Yuuri gestures permission for him to enter. Viktor doesn’t miss the way the guards move to cover the exit as well. Takeda doesn’t either, and for the first time Viktor sees dread on his face. He allows himself to enjoy it. Yuuri smiles at Takeda, a bone-deep satisfaction in the form of a cat that’s caught the mouse.

“Takeda-san,” Yuuri says, “so kind of you to join us. I was just telling Yoshida-san about those cookies he gave me a few years back.”

Takeda’s eyes widen. He knew Yoshida was part of the original plot to kill Yuuri, whether knowingly or unknowingly at the time, and Viktor bristles further. _Years_ Yuuri spent wondering who wanted to kill him, who tried and why, and Takeda’s known for a while, it seems.

“Is that so, Your Majesty?” Takeda asks.

“Indeed,” Yuuri replies. “Takeda-san, I assume you understand the definition of High Treason?”

“I do, Sire,” Takeda confirms.

“So you understand your actions recently require that I strip both you and Yoshida-san of your titles, correct?” Yuuri asks, looking him in the eye.

“I-I’m sorry, Sire, I don’t understand. I have only ever been loyal to the Crown.” He glances at Viktor, eyes widening further when Viktor smirks. He’s been waiting for this day just as much as Yuuri has, if not more. Takeda looks back as Yuuri starts talking.

“I’m curious as to what your definition of ‘loyalty’ is,” Yuuri says, “because it’s certainly not the same as mine. I always assumed ‘Loyalty to the Crown’ meant approaching your monarch when you had a problem with how they were ruling or conducting themselves, and maybe hearing out their reasoning. Not threatening their loved ones and attempting to assassinate them.”

“Your Majesty showed no signs of being willing to listen.”

“I listen,” Yuuri says. “Unfortunately, I don’t agree with your assumption that my private life is your business, nor in the realm of what you have rights to dictate. I will listen to commentary on how I rule, what I see as just. I’m even willing to explain my reasoning.” Stepping closer to Takeda, Yuuri keeps his hands clasped behind his back. “And I explained, the first three times you came to me, that I don’t see how me marrying Viktor is any sort of matter of public policy.”

“Tradition dictates that—”

“Tradition is merely a set of cultural _practices._ It is not law, it is not set in stone. It changes with the people who subscribe to it. Akitsushima is a relatively diverse country,” he says. “We have people from all religions here, all walks of life, and yet we insist on ‘purity’ for the monarchy. The common citizenry of this country is mostly progressive. They’re more than accepting of Viktor as their new King-Consort. In all honesty, yourself and like-minded people are in the minority as far as not wanting us to get married.”

“Common citizenry is just that, Your Majesty,” Takeda says. “Common.”

“Unfortunately, Takeda-san, commoners are the people who live in your province. Commoners make up your support base, or lack of one. As an Earl, your position is dependent on the people you lord over, and you never thought it prudent to try to be somewhat likeable for them? When they form the base of your power? Even a self-centered man such as yourself can see the benefits of being on the people’s good side.”

“Is that why you’re still playing at being common, Sire?” Takeda bites. He looks surprised with himself, though, and almost sick when he realizes how his mouthing off would look at this point.

“I’m very much not, actually,” Yuuri says. “I’m royalty. I’m your King. I’m twenty-three years old. I also have hobbies. Having hobbies does not negate the title I hold. Wearing jeans does not negate it. Nor does standing up for myself.”

“Your esteemed late father would never have acted like this,” Takeda says, clearly starting to panic. Trying to get under Yuuri’s skin is working a bit, but it’s impossible to tell if you don’t know him, and none of these people know Yuuri. Not like Viktor does. Yuuri’ll fall apart later, like he does when he’s confronted with problems like this.

Stay strong in the moment, fall apart later. It seems an odd way to run a country, but it’s working.

“Funnily enough,” Yuuri says, “I don’t actually care. My father did his best to rule the country and to protect me. My father has passed on. Since then, the crown has passed to me and the way I see it, as long as I’m doing my duties, working in the best interests of the people I rule, and being generally respectful of others, I’m doing just fine.”

Approaching Takeda, Yuuri’s eyes narrow further. “You spent ten years plotting against myself and my family with my bodyguard’s mother, and when I got back, hardly waited to threaten my fiancé while you spent every moment you could buttering me up and trying to ingratiate yourself. It didn’t work, if you were wondering.”

Takeda sputters. Yuuri remains standing tall, every inch a King. “We have everything, now. All of your call logs, all of your emails, all of your family’s desperate plans to force my family into submission over the years. All of the records of funding you gave, bribes you managed to get away with.”

“I knew that woman would talk,” Takeda mutters.

“Oh, we got this from select members of your staff,” Yuuri says, “though Kataoka-san’s assistance was invaluable. It's amazing how treating your staff badly makes them all the more willing to help people working against you. All it took was promises of protection from you and yours to have them handing over every scrap of evidence.”

It's obvious Takeda knows he’s started to lose. An arrest is not a conviction, and it's clear he's going to try to put up a fight, but the surety in Yuuri’s voice has him shaken. Time and time again, in matters of court both social and political, Yuuri has proven himself a capable ruler. Patient, he learns all he can and considers all sides before moving forward with his decisions, but when he _does_ make political moves it’s decisive.

Yuuri would not make a move like this unless he was sure it would work in his favor, and Takeda knows it.

“Takeda Masayoshi-san, Yoshida Hitoshi-san,” Yuuri says, looking at them, “you are both under arrest for High Treason and conspiracy against the Crown. You will be taken to await trial, and in the interim plans will be made as to what will happen to your provinces and properties should you end up removed from your positions.” Moving forward, the guard comes to stand in between the rest of the nobility and Takeda, Yoshida, and Yuuri.

Takeda moves closer to Yuuri, almost pleading. “Sire, Your Royal Majesty,” he says, “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement, there’s no need for such drastic measures. I’d be more than happy to reconsider your thoughts about—”

“Let me make one thing painfully clear,” Yuuri says, stepping to a mere foot away while keeping his hands clasped together behind him. “You had the opportunity. You lost it when you told Viktor that it would be in his best interests to _leave._ Threatening your future King-Consort was not the way to go about affecting change.”

Takeda is livid. “May I ask how long you've known, Your Majesty?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Long enough,” Yuuri says.

It’s not the answer Takeda wants. He wants to be able to pinpoint the moment he lost favor with his king, the moment Viktor defied him to expose the threats. He wants to _know,_ and Yuuri’s not letting him.

“Sire,” he says, changing his tone to one of restrained anger, “I am your humble servant. I’d like to be an asset to you, should you allow it.”

“I won’t,” Yuuri replies. “Takeda-san, your continuing attempts to grovel are doing nothing but irritating me. I’ve told you what evidence we have. I’ve told you the guard will escort you to prison. We may be able to offer some leniency in your sentencing if you cooperate, but after all this time, you’ve lost your foothold, and I think acceptance would be prudent, rather than trying to get me to like you for trying to kill me and my fiancé. You may be escorted out of here with dignity, or you may be carried out by the Guard. That’s up to you.”

Furious, Takeda looks as if he’s about to blow a gasket while Yuuri stands in front of him, still calm, still ice cold, and then the cold turns into shock as Takeda reaches out, grabbing Yuuri’s shirt and jerking him closer. “You’re a disgrace to your ancestors, boy, and I—”

He hits the floor, out cold. Yuuri’s shaking his hand, rubbing his knuckles, and Viktor does his best to process what he’d seen. Takeda grabbing Yuuri, shaking him, and Yuuri’s arm, fast as lighting, pulling back before he threw his entire body into the punch. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was trained, and as Viktor looks around the room, most of the nobility present look impressed, if anything.

“I—” Yuuri looks around, as if just out of a daze. “I apologize for my brash action, however he—”

“He grabbed you, Your Majesty,” a woman says, stepping forward with her head bowed. “I think I’m not alone when I say that is firm grounds for self-defense.”

A glare at Yoshida gets the other man bowing to Yuuri, and then to the members of the Guard standing next to him as he indicates his readiness to be taken away. Two guards kneel and hook Takeda’s arms over their shoulders as he groggily blinks. Pursing his lips, Yuuri looks at them.

“I’d like you to see to it that Takeda-san gets medical attention before he’s taken to prison,” he says. “Being knocked out like that is likely to result in a concussion.”

“Absolutely, Sire,” one replies as they hoist Takeda to his feet.

Yoshida looks at Yuuri, then at Takeda. “Your Majesty,” he says, “if I may ask one question?”

Suffering inquiries from one of the conspirators seems to be the last thing Yuuri wants to do, but he allows it with a gesture.

Bowing in thanks, Yoshida keeps his gaze trained on the floor. “Sire, after all Takeda-san has done, why are you so concerned with him getting care?”

“I’m not heartless,” Yuuri says. “I prefer nonviolent solutions. I prefer to talk it out with people. Takeda’s still a person, and I’m not going to leave him to languish in a prison cell while he’s injured.”

“You say you’re against violence and yet—” Yoshida’s cut off by another noble, stepping forward.

“If the compelling evidence is to be believed,” Aoki says, “Earl Takeda has done more than enough to justify His Majesty fearing for his life when he’s grabbed like that. Takeda-san made it physical first. His Majesty defended himself against an attack, as is his right.”

“Still,” a third person says, “A punch is a punch, and most unbecoming of our sovereign.”

Okada steps forward. “You can’t possibly expect King Yuuri to stand there and let himself be assaulted! The guard wasn’t able to catch Takeda-san before he grabbed His Majesty, what if Takeda-san had had a knife? Would you have His Majesty let himself be stabbed?”

“Of course not,” the man replies, shocked. “I resent the implication!”

Yuuri looks at him in disbelief. “You just said I shouldn’t punch him! He _grabbed_ me!”

Chagrined, the man looks down. “You— of course, Sire, I let my thoughts get away from me.”

Sighing, Yuuri nods. Looking to the guard, he gestures a dismissal, and they carry Takeda out of the room. Yoshida follows, bowing to Yuuri. Yuuri replies with a nod, and they’re taken away.

With a sigh, Yuuri looks around the room. “Does anyone else here want to kill me? Or, you know, have issues that they’d like to discuss? I personally intend to hold a formal court meeting in the future, in light of recent events, just so you all know.”

“Is there a problem, Sire?” Aoki asks.

“Well, for one, we’re going to discuss the nobility’s lack of respect for my personal decisions.” Looking around, he meets eyes with most everyone. “There’s not one person here who hasn’t questioned my relationship and judgement to the point where I felt insulted. I understand having someone born common on the Consort’s throne is unprecedented. However, it isn’t _illegal,_ and Vitya won’t be involved in _running_ the country, so his political inexperience bears no consequence.” Pausing, Yuuri takes a moment to survey the room, somehow managing to look every inch a King yet so very young.

Looking at Viktor, Yuuri takes a breath, closes his eyes and centers himself. “Am I not allowed to marry the man I fell in love with?” he asks, moving to stand near Viktor. “I spent fifteen years running scared from threats, many of which were orchestrated by members of the nobility, came home to my dad dying and my accession to the throne, and yet I’m expected to sacrifice this relationship and my happiness for the sake of frankly outdated propriety? At what point am I allowed to be a person?” Taking Viktor’s hand, Yuuri looks around the room, his expression a mix of vulnerability and painful frustration that only emphasizes how hard he’s had to fight to get to this point.

Everyone in the room looks around, as if just now realizing how it must feel for Yuuri. Aoki steps forward.

“I agree with His Majesty,” he says. “We all know our support among the people is waning drastically, and that people are calling for progress.”

“The people's support has nothing to do with the monarchy,” someone says over the din.

“When members of the nobility have, in the past, used their influence to control my family and have us serve the nobility’s best interests rather than those of the people, it has everything to do with it,” Yuuri interjects. “The people have noticed our attempts to move forward. The people have noticed how progress has been stagnated for years. Now, they know it was because we’ve been under threat. They know the nobility has been holding this country back and they aren’t happy about it.”

Aoki looks at Yuuri and nods. “His Majesty is right. We’ve spent too long serving only ourselves.”

“So we grovel?”

“We _serve._ As we swear to when given control of the lands we hold, we must work in the interest of the people or risk their revolt.”

“Honestly,” Yuuri says, “at least some of your motivation ought to be because people are people and worthy of dignity and compassion. I feel it prudent to call an end to the meeting right now, and will see you all soon.”

 

~*~

 

Adrenaline, potent though it is, doesn’t last forever, and by the time they’ve made it to their rooms it seems to have worn off. In the bedroom, Yuuri is quiet, almost shaky as he puts his crown on the dresser. “We know, now,” he says.

“Why you had to run?”

“And why I couldn’t come back. It’s been almost sixteen years I’ve been wondering, and now we know, and we know what they wanted, and we know who it was and we caught them.”

Wrapping his arms around Yuuri from behind, Viktor kisses his cheek. Yuuri turns, kissing his lip as he puts his hands on Viktor’s waist.

“There’s still a trial, right?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, but… we have so much evidence, Vitya. With the information Kataoka-san gave us, there’s so much there’s no _way_ they can frame it as anything but High Treason.” Leaning his face up, he kisses him again. “Vitya, we’re getting married.”

“We are,” Viktor says, relief spreading through him as he fights tears. “And you’re home. You’re home, you have your family, you have Hana, and we’re getting married.”

“And we’re not running scared anymore,” Yuuri says, now crying. “Viktor, we- we _won._ It’s _over,_ Vityusha.”

“It’s over,” Viktor echoes, pulling Yuuri close and kissing his hair. “We’re safe.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**As every color illuminates**  
>  We are shining  
> And we will never be afraid again._  
> \- Florence + the machine
> 
> I am. Sorry this is late. Stuff happened. I tried to do Inktober and fell behind. Life got hectic. Things weren't going right when I was writing. I stayed up for two days straight trying to fix it, ended up having to sleep, and when I woke up this ~~afternoon~~ morning, lo and behold I could write again. I anticipate the next chapter being on time, though, since I'm using TNOT as my NaNoWriMo project!
> 
> It's also so incredibly hard to believe this is coming to an end!! It's been a year since I started writing (though not since I started publishing) and it's going to be strange not having TNOT to work on. Though, I can say I have plans for my next fic(s) and have already started planning for those, and hopefully will have a chapter to publish soon after TNOT is done. I have some AU stuff for TNOT planned (similar to These Are The Days) so I'm hoping to put that up and, of course, the second part of Hanazakari.
> 
> Many many many thanks to Isis for being incredible (and beta-ing this at three am!!) and I couldn't have gotten it done so well without the incredible input.
> 
> Also many thanks to Riki for being a stalwart supporter through this madness.
> 
> Also: Discord Sprint Crew was great about putting up with me, lol.


	17. The Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cause for celebration, cause for concern, and everything starting to come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [History Maker by Dean Fujioka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8dV95vIuwc)
> 
> _Saunters in ~~a week~~ fifteen minutes late with a new chapter._

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Yulian says, looking out the window of the private jet, “there is quite a bit of press, here.”

“Good,” Viktor replies, pulling on the long wool peacoat over his suit. Mid-fall in Russia is cold enough that before he’d left Hasetsu for St. Petersburg, he’d been outfitted with a new winter wardrobe with all sorts of levels of formality, including a sash and brooch with Yuuri’s Royal Order, in case he’s invited anywhere by virtue of his being a de facto part of Hasetsu’s Royal Family. A stylist wraps a scarf around his neck, draping it so it’s suitably warm yet still artful.

Yakov scoffs. “How long will I be standing in the cold while you chatter away?”

“Not long,” Viktor replies, picking up a pair of rich brown leather gloves. Though he’s always had a penchant for them, the golden ring on his finger makes him second-guess wearing them in favor of the visible reminder of his love. Still, it’s a bitterly cold afternoon and he’ll have plenty of opportunity to flash his ring at practice. Or interviews. He has a few events scheduled wherein he’s been invited in a royal capacity, and it’s to those he’ll be sure to wear it.

The stylist finishes messing with his hair, despite protests that the wind will only mess it up anyway, straightening a few last things before giving him a thumbs-up. Yakov comes to stand next to him. “How long is ‘not long’?” he asks.

“I’m just making the announcement, I can’t do interviews on the tarmac.” Pulling out his sunglasses, Viktor puts them on, checking his reflection in the mirror the stylist holds up.

“Mr. Nikiforov, we’re about ready to open the plane door, sir,” one of the flight staff says, holding out Makkachin’s leash.

“Thank you,” Viktor replies, moving to stand just to the side of it. The leash goes around Viktor’s wrist and Makkachin, perfectly groomed, sits at his side. He seems to know sometimes that the world’s eyes are on him, and usually manages to look better than even Viktor. Entrances (and exits, apparently,) are important as far as the Palace is concerned, and Viktor has to seem like he hasn’t been waiting to disembark until he could make it look good.

He gives a nod, and the door opens. Making his way down the stairs, Viktor waves at the press, waves at the people greeting him, ever aware of his dog trotting at his side and the massive entourage walking behind him. He gets to the press area, stands as close to the rope as his bodyguards generally allow, and puts on his best smile.

“I’m currently unable to answer all of your questions,” he says, “but I can tell you this: I will be competing for the remainder of the season, starting at Russian Nationals.”

The press goes wild. Camera flashes are almost blinding as Viktor flashes a grin and waves. Viktor lets one of his bodyguards stress again that interview requests must be approved by the Russian Skating Federation and the Hasetsu Royal Palace, before he’s taken to the car, Yakov following closely behind. His luggage will be taken to his hotel later, for now they’ll be going to Lilia’s for lunch. In the car, Makkachin wastes no time in laying on the seat, draping himself happily over Viktor’s lap. Once his seatbelt is buckled, his phone vibrates in the inner breast pocket of his coat. He pulls it out, smiles when he sees Yuuri’s name, and answers.

“Vitya, the internet is going fucking _nuts,”_ Yuuri says in lieu of an ‘I love you and am glad you landed safely and hope lunch goes well’. Viktor pouts uselessly. Yuuri can’t see him, but it makes him feel better.

“The announcement?”

“Yeah, people are amazed you’re coming back, apparently.”

“Well, three broken bones is quite a bit to come back from, especially at my old age.”

Yuuri giggles on the other end of the phone line as Yakov raises a bushy eyebrow in the seat across from Viktor.

“You'll do great,” Yuuri says. “I'll watch everything I can, but I'll clear my schedule to watch Nationals.”

“In Russian, right?”

He can hear the hesitation before Yuuri sighs. “I'll do my best,” he says. “Do I _have_ to talk to you before I watch with subtitles in English?”

“Or Japanese,” Viktor adds. “I want to see what all you understood. It's not like you don't know enough to get what's happening.”

“This isn't fair.”

“Neither is movie night without subtitles, even if it _is_ a kid’s movie.”

“That you've _seen_ before in English.”

“Once, in _Detroit.”_

Yuuri huffs. He doesn't keep complaining, he’s doing his best to learn Russian and knows the little challenges they set for each other are all in good fun.

“How's the puppy?” Viktor asks. A few weeks before he'd left, he'd dragged Yuuri to a poodle sanctuary to get a dog. Yuuri had missed having one while he'd been gone, and with their imminent separation, temporary though it is, Viktor had wanted Yuuri to have some form of company.

Nori had plopped down in Yuuri's lap once he'd spent time playing with some of the other dogs, as if claiming it for her own, and when later nosed at by Makka, proceeded to lick his nose before snuggling back in. Yuuri had been smitten, and Viktor hadn't minded being all but ignored on the drive home.

After switching the call to video, Yuuri reaches into his lap and picks up the toy poodle pup, curly black hair shining in the light of Yuuri's desk lamp. “Nori-chan's been sleeping,” he says. “She misses Makka already, she kept nosing around Makka's bed to see if he was there.”

“We'll be back for your birthday.” Sleepy, the puppy yawns and licks her own nose before Yuuri tucks her back in his lap.

“I know you will. I'm looking forward to seeing you both. How was the flight? Did you and Yakov eat?”

“Breakfast on the plane, but we’re heading to lunch at Lilia’s right now.” Viktor switches back to an audio call so Yakov isn't subjected to the entirety of their conversation.

“Mmm, tell her ‘hi’ for me?”

“I will.” Viktor watches out the window as they drive towards Lilia’s building, into an older area of the city closer to the big theaters. “We’re getting close,” he says, “I should probably hang up.”

“That’s fine,” Yuuri replies. “I miss you.”

“I left fourteen hours ago.”

“Still.”

“I miss you, too.” Sighing, Viktor looks down at his hands, still in their leather gloves. “It's only going to be a few months, if that. I've gotta get back in shape and I need Yakov and Lilia for that.”

He’s mostly there. Months of grueling, often painful training under Minako and, later, Yakov, has gotten him almost back to his pre-attack exercise regimen. Now, he has to finish getting his quads back and refine his programs in the month and a half leading into Russian Nationals. He can't help but wish Yuuri could come visit again, but he wouldn't have any free time to spend with his future husband as it is.

“We'll video call,” Yuuri says. “Same as last year, yeah?”

“Yeah. We just pulled in, I should go.” Looking up at the building, Viktor sighs.

“Okay, I'll text. I love you.”

Glancing at his coach, Viktor switches to Japanese. “I love you too, talk to you soon.” He hangs up just as they pull into the driveway.

Lilia, unsurprisingly, is outside waiting for them.

“How was your flight, Vitya?” she asks as he approaches.

“Nice. I slept most of it.” He takes his leather messenger bag when it’s held out to him by one of his entourage.

“Mr. Nikiforov, we’ll be taking your things to the rental property and getting your rooms set up, sir,” one of his assistants says.

Viktor nods. “Alright, I'll have Yulian let you know when we’re ready to be picked up.”

“Of course, sir.” With a small bow, the assistant heads back to the car, with all but two of Viktor’s bodyguards. Yakov is pointedly carrying his own bag, despite allowing Viktor's staff the use of a spare key to get his luggage into his apartment. Everyone present follows Lilia into the building, though Viktor and Yakov know the route to her apartment well enough.

Viktor smells Lilia’s stroganoff when he enters, and somehow it’s comforting, even as tense as things feel. The time Viktor spent living here wasn’t particularly fun, full of tightly-controlled meals and routine, but now he’s a guest.

“Your bodyguards are welcome to food and coffee or wine if they’d like,” she says.

“We appreciate it, ma’am. We won't drink alcohol on duty, but coffee would be nice and we’ll eat in the kitchen if there’s a place for us to,” Yulian says. “We know Mr. Nikiforov likely wants to catch up, and this way we can work on plans while you discuss your own. So long as we’re within shouting distance, we’re happy.”

Lilia serves the bodyguards, pouring hot coffee for them before bringing the serving plates to the dining room table. Viktor sits in the place he'd adopted as his own in his time here, Makkachin curling up at his feet. Lilia serves wine, a nice pinot noir Viktor knows she favors and typically saves for important guests. The potatoes, as usual, are perfectly crispy, the sauce perfectly flavored, and in a way it tastes like home.

“Minako says you’ve been doing well these last few months,” Lilia says after a sip of her wine.

“I've been doing my best,” Viktor responds. “Minako’s been quite strict, though she took care to avoid too strenuous activity. She consulted with the medical staff regularly to be sure.”

“Excellent,” Lilia replies.

“I thought all of this stuffiness would stop when we left Hasetsu,” Yakov mutters. “Knock it off, Vitka.”

“Yakov,” Lilia warns.

“He’s still Vitya,” Yakov retorts. “Regardless of who he’s marrying.” He’s never had much patience for upper-class life, though over time it’s only decreased. It's somehow refreshing. Hasetsu was frankly off-putting to him, and though he had what manners he needed, he hadn't bothered with anything beyond that. At least most of his time had been in the residential wing. Viktor’s fairly sure he'd have had an aneurysm with how things had been before Yuuri’d had them relax propriety.

Still, Lilia nods. “How is his skating? You said he’s not quite where he was?”

“He’ll get there.” Yakov nods. “We mostly need to work his jumps and core. The programs are turning out nicely.” It's a wonder why Viktor’s surprised his first dinner back in St. Petersburg is starting to double as another assessment of his skill, a talk about how best to train him up to win them the gold. Viktor takes the liberty of slouching in his chair, some, picking at the beef on his plate like he did when he was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old and living here full-time.

As fancy as it is, the apartment used to impress Viktor, used to remind him of the Imperial Palaces strewn across Western Russia.

Now, it reminds him of a painful adolescence and makes him long for his bedroom in Hasetsu.

“I don't know why you don't stay with me again,” Lilia’s saying when Viktor looks back over at her.

“Could you accommodate my staff here, too?” Viktor asks. “Chefs, assistants, bodyguards, stylists and such? Altogether about twenty people.” It seems ridiculous, but with careful training being the center of Viktor’s focus, and the myriad of media and official appearances he has to make on top of keeping in touch with the Palace, having this sort of staff relieves a lot of his stress. It was one thing to manage a single-person household and his career when his fame was relatively stable. It's another with the increased attention, royal duties and the strict (though still relatively relaxed) image the Palace requires he maintain outside of training situations.

Frowning, Lilia glances at the kitchen door. “You have that many people?”

Viktor nods. “The Palace has taken the liberty of renting a property large enough to fit everyone comfortably.”

Thin though they are, Lilia’s eyebrows are expressive, and right now they’re surprised.

“You're not staying in your apartment?”

“Too small, there isn't room anywhere nearby, and I don't have the fondest memories of the place anymore. I ended my lease.” He’d had people pack it up without him and ship everything out to Hasetsu where it sits in storage. The landlord was sad to see him end his lease, but grateful Viktor paid out of pocket for the repair work.

“This way,” Viktor continues, “we’re all on the same property. Easier security, easier to manage with only one household, lower transportation costs. It makes more sense.”

“True.” Lilia takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Will you be entertaining anyone?”

“I'm not sure, but I hear the place is nice enough that I could. Maybe I'll have everyone at the rink over sometime.” He’s sure Chef Elena wouldn’t mind a big dinner on occasion, and he’s grateful it was her the palace sent with him. Her assistant, too, will be there and in charge of the few kitchen staff members they have.

Yakov scoffs. He’ll make a show later about not wanting to go to some stuffy dinner party, but after some gentle coercion and promises of a relaxed environment and good vodka, he’ll agree.

 

~*~

 

The house rented by the Palace is more of a small mansion, complete with well-maintained gardens and a dedicated groundskeeping, cleaning, and maintenance team ready to work with Viktor's staff. He has the end of one of the wings, a small suite of rooms for his private use, and the staff have the entire other wing, a series of guest rooms and small apartments, for their living quarters. The tour he’s taken on includes everything from the kitchens where dinner is already being prepared to the formal rooms and then his own. His things have been unpacked, Makkachin’s bed set up in the corner in case he decides not to sleep in Viktor's.

After exchanging his suit for jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and slippers, Viktor makes his way downstairs to find his staff assembled in one of the larger sitting rooms. When he enters, all eyes turn to him.

“We'll be finished soon, sir,” his main assistant says, bowing. “You'll have use of all the main rooms in short order.”

“Actually, I was going to…” Viktor looks at everyone assembled. “I don't want to be following the same system of protocol and separation as Hasetsu Palace.”

“Sir?”

“I mean, if we have formal guests that’s one thing, but day-to-day I would prefer a far more relaxed environment. You all can feel free to use the general rooms at your leisure, if I need privacy I can retire to my little area.” Everyone’s looking at him like he’s grown a second head. “Meals, too,” Viktor says. “I don't mind eating with everyone in whatever room is closest to the kitchens. Again, if I need privacy I can ask my food be brought to me.”

Yulian steps forward. “Of course, sir. If the informality would make you feel more comfortable, we’d be more than happy to accomodate you.”

Viktor smiles gratefully. Yulian knows that he’s still more comfortable with some informality and does his best in that respect, and apparently spearheading the campaign to accommodate his requests.

“I appreciate it,” Viktor says. “I realize it may be uncomfortable, what with me being engaged to Yuuri, but I did grow up common. I'm more used to that life, still, and would appreciate it while I train for my last season on the ice. Much easier to focus on training without a tightrope at home.”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” one aide says, “we are unable to entirely drop propriety like that. This is considered a Royal Household.”

“I understand,” Viktor says, “but it doesn't need to be as formal.”

“Alright.” Yulian shrugs. “So you want us to just. Live here with you?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Shall I inform the chef that you'll be taking your meal with us tonight?”

Viktor nods. “And please be sure to ask for alcohol. The good stuff, enough for everyone.”

“Yes, sir,” Yulian replies, smiling, and Viktor can feel the tension ease.

 

~*~

 

Press is gathered outside of the sports complex when Viktor's car arrives the next morning, crowding around the entrance while rink security does their best to hold them off. Yakov is at the top of the stairs, arms crossed and wearing an impressive scowl under his fedora. When the driver opens the car door Viktor gets out, smiling as he waves. He makes his way into the rink but stops at the top of the stairs for the press.

“Mr. Nikiforov! Do you have a moment?”

Of course he has a moment. He's been told he can give a few short statements much like he used to, especially since it's his first time back in Russia since the attack, and he has an image as the National Hero to maintain.

“I do!” he answers, smiling. Yakov will interrupt after a few minutes, more than happy to maintain his image as the grumpy coach to keep Viktor from losing face having to back out of interviews too often.

“Mr. Nikiforov, how does His Majesty feel about you leaving Hasetsu for the remainder of the competitive season?”

“We already miss each other,” he answers, “but Yuuri is more than supportive of me training here in St. Petersburg! I'll be back in Hasetsu for his birthday, so we're looking forward to that.”

“Can you elaborate on the investigation concerning Earl Takeda and Duke Yoshida?”

“I can't, unfortunately, as the trial is still ongoing.” He doesn't want to, either, and is glad the Palace heavily restricts what he can say on the matter.

“Rumors have said the attack was aimed at yourself rather than His Majesty, is there any truth to that?”

“Again,” Viktor says, “I am unable to discuss the investigation. My apologies.”

“Yuri Plisetsky’s in the running for the Grand Prix Final in his first year in seniors, your thoughts?”

“Yuri works hard,” Viktor says, “and his success at Skate Canada only proves that. I'm very proud, and hope only the best for him, Georgi, and the other competitors in this year's Grand Prix Series!”

“Do you regret your inability to defend your title as Grand Prix Final Gold Medalist?”

Taking a breath, Viktor meets the reporter's eyes. “While I would have loved to compete in the Series, I'm not upset that circumstances prevented it. I was never going to hold the title forever,” he laughs. He's honestly not upset. Disappointed? A bit, yes, but this is the nature of competition. Titles and records are won, sometimes they're held, and then they're passed to the next champion.

“Are you confident that you’ll be able to make a comeback at Russian Nationals after such a severe injury?”

Viktor winks. “I’ve done it before! If we didn’t think I was capable, I wouldn’t have announced my return!”

“How do you anticipate balancing duties as His Majesty’s fiancé with your training and career?”

They want to know which he intends to prioritize: his relationship, or Russia’s reputation. Continuing to smile, he crosses his arms.

“The discussions I’ve had with the Palace in Hasetsu have included how best to ensure I get the time necessary to train and have rest days, which has been taken into consideration in regards to scheduling. I will continue to work closely with the Palace to ensure neither my duties nor my career are neglected.” It’s a balance that takes work to maintain, but they’ve had plenty of practice, especially over the last few months. He pointedly meets Yakov's eyes, ready to leave.

Though several more questions are shouted, Yakov steps forward, barking at Viktor to get inside and start warming up. With what looks like a reluctant smile, he excuses himself, waves a bit more, and vanishes into the rink. He sighs.

“I thought you’d _like_ being home.” Yakov says as they head into the building.

“It’s seven a.m. and I’m jetlagged,” Viktor gripes, sipping his coffee.

Yuri gravitates towards him in the locker room, though he's tired and sullen at the early hour. He does manage a wave while he rubs at his eyes, turning to sit and put his skates on. It becomes quickly apparent that he’s watching, though, sharp green eyes tracking Viktor’s movements when Yuri thinks he can’t see. He does, but he doesn’t say anything. Yuri’s thoughts are his own, and if it’s something he wants to bring up with Viktor he’ll either go ahead and bring it up, or let it simmer until he can’t hold it back. Though the former is preferable, the latter is what Viktor’s come to expect in the years he’s known Yuri, but for now it’s a game of wait-and-see.

 

When they’re on the ice, Viktor can feel Yuri’s eyes on him, watching as he twizzles and absently runs through a few step sequences in preparation for the real workout. It’s not quite where he was, there’s still some stiffness that hadn’t been there before the attack, but he’s far closer to where he had been than he was. He can skate, he can run through his routines with triples and he’s starting to land his quads again with some level of consistency. The brace is heavy on his wrist, a reminder of the last time he’d been in this same rink and every once in a while he finds himself breathing through a rush of adrenaline that has little to do with his skating.

Aside from a few falls and the unusual nerves, practice goes better than Viktor thought it would. Yakov has him run his short program for Lilia so she can make notes about any adjustments, though she’s surprisingly less acerbic than usual. Dutifully, Viktor does his drills, runs step sequences and jumps until the ache in his side gets too big to ignore, at which point he skates to the boards and tells his coaches he’s leaving. They don’t question him, they know he knows what he’s doing, and when he has Yulian call for the car, there’s refreshingly little prying.

 

~*~

 

Though he only has a few weeks in St. Petersburg before he has to be back in Hasetsu for Yuuri’s birthday party, Viktor makes the best of them. He trains as much as he’s safely able (giving Yuri pointers where he can), goes to doctor’s appointments and physical therapy, and is grateful when he comes home every night to hot food and his dog. There’s something nice about the staff being around, and it goes beyond the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about Makkachin when he’s out or doesn’t have to try to muster the energy to cook within his meal plan every day. Having people to talk to and interact with helps when Viktor’s feeling alone. The staff is as deferential as they need to be, for sure, but after Viktor’s speech at the start, they make no effort to isolate themselves.

Chef Elena, especially, is good about treating Viktor casually, aided in no small part by the time in Hasetsu she’d grilled Viktor for two hours about Yuuri’s favorite foods for the information she needed to plan the birthday banquet to the best of her ability. She’d tried asking the Queen and Crown Princess but they had no idea, she’d told Viktor, and his heart had sunk when he’d realized how little they still know about Yuuri.

Training with Lilia goes better than Viktor expected when he’d arrived. She doesn’t pry much, and while she says nothing about Viktor’s injuries, he can feel her eyes on him, watching, waiting for any signs that he might be in pain. It’s strange, and there’s a part of him that resents his discomfort with her starting to actually pay _attention_ to him, but he pushes through and does his best to give her no excuse to send him home. She doesn’t address their conversation directly, which is no surprise, but he can see her mulling over things as she coaches him. Perhaps she wonders how much she still misses, perhaps she marvels at how little she knows about her student.

Perhaps Viktor and the others are reading the situation wrong, and she doesn’t care as much as it seems. He tries to stay positive, though, because he and his recently-acquired therapist have figured out that it’s not that hard for him to spiral into some sort of self-loathing or generalized apathy when it comes to his career and the people associated with it.

After he’s been back for a bit, the media requests start flooding in. People want to watch him train, want to see the comeback their National Hero is making, but Yakov turns them down until after the Grand Prix Final. There’s no point in causing a scene, he says, when Yuri is focusing on the Final and Viktor is still doing his best to train up for Nationals. The Palace backs him up after confirming with Viktor that that’s what he wants, citing Yakov’s experience and position as Viktor’s coach. They do allow an interview or two but insist that everything else can wait. It’s not what the media wants, but they don’t make a scene in the slightest. They know neither the Palace nor the Russian Skating Federation will hesitate to further restrict access.

Somehow, Viktor’s become even more untouchable than before, and it’s a strange comfort.

 

~*~

 

A mere week before his departure for Akitsushima, Viktor is scheduled to have dinner with some of the higher-ups in Russia’s government. Lilia meets him at his house, walking into the bedroom just as he’s pulling on his jacket. An attendant comes forward with the ornate collar he’d been given by Yuuri, a sign of his closeness to the Royal Family of Akitsushima and, specifically, its king. A thick chain of gold with emeralds, it weighs heavily on Viktor's shoulders as it's pinned into place. A star with Yuuri's crest hangs in the center of his chest, gleaming as it catches the light and laying heavily against Viktor’s sternum.

“He gave you a Royal Order?” Lilia asks.

Viktor nods. “He did. Isamu, Mari, and I all received one shortly before I left.”

“Anything specific?”

“Just closeness to him and whatnot.”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” an attendant says, “the car is here for yourself and Madame Baranovskaya.”

“Thank you,” Viktor replies, picking up his gloves, scarf, and black woolen coat as they head out.

 

They ride in silence, the limo making its way through the streets of St. Petersburg with surprisingly little trouble. Lilia herself is dressed nicely, a long evening gown under a well-tailored coat, with her hair in a perfect bun and her makeup tastefully applied. She’s been going to these sorts of events longer than Viktor has, he knows, and she looks it. The house they pull into is nicer than Viktor had initially expected, and pulling up in front of the entrance, he sees a couple of attendants standing outside.

“They’ll guide us in and take our coats,” Lilia explains. Completely unnecessarily, Viktor thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. He offers his arm to his teacher once they exit the car and she takes it, allowing him to escort her as they follow the attendant inside. Once they’re in the house, their coats and Viktor’s gloves are taken, and a butler announces them when they enter the parlor where everyone is gathered.

Everything stops, men in tuxedos and women in gowns all turn to the door as Viktor enters, and he can see every eye drawn to the gold and emeralds draped over his shoulders, knowing its meaning. Smiling, the Governor nods deeply and walks over.

“Viktor Alexandrovich, welcome!”

Extending his hand, Viktor shakes the Governor's with a smile. “On behalf of myself and Sachima's Royal Family, I thank you for your invitation.”

“It’s an honor to have you,” the Governor replies.

The Governor greets Lilia with the same formality as well, lowering himself to kiss her hand before inviting her and Viktor to join the party. They mingle a bit, Viktor chatting with other guests with a dazzling smile.

Before dinner, the Governor gets the attention of those assembled, standing on a small dais at the end of the room.

“Tonight,” he says, “we wish to honor Viktor Alexandrovich's return to our shores, and to representing Russia as figure skating's Living Legend.” Holding his hand out in Viktor's direction, he clearly expects him to make his way over. Handing his champagne to a waiter, Viktor makes his way to stand next to the Governor.

“For years, Viktor has been known as Russia's National Hero and tonight, we make that official by awarding him the honorary title of Hero of the Russian Federation.” Viktor manages not to look surprised, instead smiling as pictures are taken and a small case is held up holding a golden five-pointed star suspended under a red, white, and blue ribbon reminiscent of the Russian flag.

“In addition,” the Governor continues, “on behalf of the Government of the Russian Federation, I'm pleased to bestow the honor of the Order of Merit for Services to the Fatherland, fourth class, for his contributions in fostering peace between nations and bringing esteem to Russia throughout his exceptional career.” He gestures at one of the cases, holding a vivid red sash and cross-shaped badge and brooch. It's the lowest of the four classes, but an honor nonetheless, and Viktor smiles as he shakes the Governor's hand, an attendant standing to either side with an open velvet case holding the medals.

Cameras flash and the room applauds, Lilia standing with an unreadable expression in the front. One of the attendants whisper to him that they'd be more than happy to escort him to a side room if he'd like to put the Orders on. Gratefully, he accepts, following them to a sitting room with a mirror and smiling as they set the cases on the table and leave.

The problems come when he goes to put them on. He'd been told most everything he needed to know about accepting such awards, but normally his staff would be there to get things situated as he was dressing, much like they'd done with the golden collar. Now, he has two pins and a sash with a badge to contend with, and he sighs as there's a curt knock on the door.

Lilia enters when he gives permission, closing the door behind her before making her way over.

“Let me unpin the collar,” she says, moving to his shoulders. She doesn't start until he nods his permission, and she lifts it over his head in short order.

“Take your jacket off, the sash goes underneath,” she instructs.

Complying, Viktor pulls off the tailcoat, draping it carefully over a nearby chair. Lilia helps him get the sash situated over his right shoulder, the star-shaped metal badge heavy against his left hip as she pins it in place. The jacket goes back on and the golden collar is replaced before she takes the star-shaped pin and clips that to the left side of his jacket along with the brooch from the box with the sash.

“Thank you,” he says as he looks in the mirror.

“Of course,” Lilia replies, closing the cases. “It would not do for you to wear them incorrectly.” When Viktor raises his eyebrow, she sighs. “It invites ridicule, both on yourself and those close to you.”

“Including you?”

“I don't want _you_ ridiculed,” she says in lieu of an answer.

He turns back to the mirror and pulls his phone out of the inner pocket of his tailcoat. Yuuri should share this with him, he thinks, and Lilia humors him by taking the pictures. He's sending one to Yuuri with an explanation when the speaks again. “Are you ready to return? Your presence will be missed soon.”

Nodding, Viktor makes a final adjustment to his hair and straightens his waistcoat and the new sash underneath, before putting the cases under one arm and offering the other to his teacher. Threading her own through, Lilia walks with him to the party, saying nothing as he asks a member of the staff to make sure the cases are put with his coat.

At dinner he's placed at the center table of the U-shaped setup, just to the right of their host, with Lilia to his right by virtue of their closeness.

It passes quickly, lively conversation with other guests punctuated by round after round of toasts. The food helps temper the alcohol, and even as the fourth and final course is cleared before dessert, Viktor is only pleasantly buzzed. They're served a nice port to go with the chocolate raspberry cake, artfully plated and served with as much pomp as the rest of the meal.

A surprisingly good conversationalist, Lilia chats with Viktor and their neighbors. There is no shortage of inquiries about Viktor's life after the attack. Smiling jovially, Viktor reassures them that he does love Russia and is doing well in his training, explains the basics of what he does in conjunction with the Royal Palace. Not once does he imply his time with Yuuri has been anything but incredible aside from the attack, nor does he let it sound like he's too happy about his eventually-permanent move to Hasetsu.

Everyone adjourns to a nearby parlor for coffee and more small talk. Phones are pulled out, pictures and autographs are asked for. It’s a surprise to many that he’s no longer allowed to sign with his name, but no one seems to be upset about his smiley faces after he explains. He chats, he smiles, he laughs and flips his hair, he plays the athlete-turned-royal perfectly, and by the end of the night he’s tired in a good way.

 

When they leave, Lilia is on Viktor’s arm until they approach the car, at which point she climbs in first. Viktor leans back, tired as the driver makes their way back into the city.

“I thought they only did the investitures on National Holidays, not at random dinner parties,” he muses.

“It would be a shame if Russia prided you as our National Hero but failed to demonstrate that. I don't doubt you've earned these commendations, but the timing is likely to be sure you're wearing something from the homeland at future events.”

“True, Yuuri’s party is soon,” he murmurs. It’ll be an event, preparations have been being made since before Yuuri went back and Viktor’s been told to expect a parade on top of the banquet and ball he’d assumed would happen. Yuuri’s home on his birthday for the first time in almost sixteen years, and the nation wants to celebrate with him.

“It is. I was invited, but am unable to attend,” Lilia says. “I’ve told Their Majesties already.”

Nodding, Viktor fiddles with the badge on the bottom of his sash. “I’ll work with Minako while I’m gone,” he says after a while.

“Just be sure not to overwork yourself on your _vacation,”_ she replies, a strange gentleness to her voice. “It wouldn’t do for you to come back more stressed and overworked than you already are.”

She’s telling him to relax, and Viktor stares at her for a moment as the limo comes to a stop at her place. Viktor exits, offers his hand to her to help her out, and once she’s standing she pulls her cloak around herself and looks him up and down. “You did well, tonight. Truly, you exemplified the role you’ve taken. I will see you tomorrow at the studio at seven.” Turning, she walks back into her building, her skirts and cloak disappearing through the door.

 

Arriving home after dropping Lilia off feels almost like a breath of fresh air. His coat is taken when he enters, and the various orders he’s wearing undone and put back in their cases before he’s left to change. When he goes downstairs, quiet and a bit more withdrawn than usual, Chef Elena merely hands him a perfect cup of tea and Makkachin drapes himself across Viktor’s lap as he curls up on the couch to drink. He’s not entirely alone, but the others in the room— playing cards, reading, and the like— don’t approach him. By now, they know what he looks like when he’s tired and just wants to recharge, and when he stands and waves goodnight, he gets a few waves and smiles in return.

 

~*~

 

The jet waiting for Viktor when he goes to leave is larger than he would normally expect, traveling with just himself, Chef Elena, and a few bodyguards, but that's to account for them picking his family up in Yekaterinburg on the way out. They land early, his family is a few minutes late, and the staff fall over themselves to apologize until both Yulian and Viktor reassure them that the wait is fine.

It doesn't take too long until Viktor is told his family is there and he goes out to meet them. Hugs and kisses abound, Katya lets him squeeze her tight around the shoulders and kiss her forehead with only mild protest on her part, and he gladly walks them back in. Of the two seating areas, they choose the one more like a sitting room rather than dealing with small tables in their way. Katya takes her time to explore, running with Makkachin to the back where the bathroom is and back up to the front. She sits between Viktor and Alexei on the longer couch, their moms taking their places on the shorter, and as they take off, Viktor sees Hilaire look him up and down.

“You look comfortable,” she says of his tracksuit.

“You can change in the back once we’re at altitude,” Viktor says. “We’ll need nice clothes on when we get off the plane, but—”

“Why?” Katya interrupts. Though there are pictures of her and Viktor (and their family) taken by the press, she’s never been a public figure and still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Katya, you know how I’m marrying Yuuri?” She nods. “And you know he’s the King of Sachima, right?” She nods again. “Well,” Viktor says, “he lives a lot of his life in the public eye, even more than I did before I met him. He and his family are going to greet us at the airport, since you’re all very important guests and they want to show that, and since he and his family going to be wearing formal clothing, we all should so it looks good.”

“Maman said there were going to be cameras,” she murmurs.

Viktor looks at her. “Yes. Are you okay with that?”

After a moment, she nods. “Yeah.”

Hilaire leans forward. “Are you sure? I know you said you were okay when I told you and just now, but it's okay to change your mind. Vitka can probably arrange for you to be taken separately.”

“I’m sure, Maman,” she says. “I'm not a baby.”

“Of course not.”

Simultaneously, Viktor and Alexei wrap their arms around her. Viktor presses a kiss to her hair. “You just remember to smile and wave at the crowds a bit, they don't want us bowing and stuff.”

“Why not?” Alexei frowns.

“They want us to feel comfortable, for one. Also, the way we act with them in public makes a statement.” Katya turns towards him as his tone shifts from light-hearted to something softer and just a bit more serious. “Yuuri's royalty, obviously. Our family are commoners. No one in Yuuri's family has ever married someone who wasn't nobility before. So when we get there, Yuuri's family wants everyone to see how friendly we all are, so that people know that he and I are very serious about getting married, still, and that his family is welcoming us with open arms and don't care that we're common.”

“Oh. Okay,” she responds.

“It's the same reason he paid for all of the super fancy clothes for the banquet, you know.”

“Gotta look good?”

Viktor nods, smiling. “I hear you designed your own dress.”

“Uh huh! I told them what I wanted and they made it for me! It's very swishy and it has pockets.”

“Why do you need pockets?”

“I _wanted_ them,” she answers.

Viktor looks at his moms. “So everything got made in time? You all have your formal clothing?”

“We do,” Alexandra says, nodding. “Your mother's friend was very good about scheduling fittings promptly as needed, and his people were wonderful about finding the right fabrics.”

“That's good, I'm glad you guys got everything figured out.”

Yulian pokes his head around the divider. “Sir? We’re at altitude if your family would like to change. Drinks will be served soon.”

Once Viktor thanks him, Katya and Alexei head to the back to exchange jeans for pajama pants, before rejoining them for a quick meal.

 

~*~

 

Four hours into the flight Katya is asleep, her head resting on Alexei's lap as he runs his fingers through her hair with her socked feet on Viktor’s. Their moms are dozing lightly, leaning on each other under a plush blanket on the other couch, now folded down into a bed.

“Vitka.”

“What?”

“What do I do if someone thinks I'm you?” Alexei asks in quiet French.

Frowning, Viktor looks over. “At the party?” Alexei nods. “That won't happen, we'll be dressed differently. I have my medals.”

“What about outside of that though?”

“Lyosha, we wear our hair differently. If someone really gets confused just explain like normal. You'll be fine.”

“I just don't want to mess this up for you,” he says. “You seem happy with him. Happier than we've seen you in years.”

“You'll be _fine,”_ Viktor says. “Don't worry. The staff has been sent an email with your picture and most of the people we'll be interacting with already know me. Yuuri's family, as well.”

Nodding, Alexei sighs. “Do you think we can get coffee right now?”

“I'm sure we can.”

Carefully, they move Katya’s head and feet so they can stand without waking her, and they fold this couch down as well so she has more room to sleep. Alexei covers her with a blanket and Makkachin jumps up to sleep next to her.

They move to the other area, giving a wave to the others on board, and Viktor makes the polite request. There are a pair of seats with a small table next to one of the windows, and the occasional cluster of lights glitters on the earth below. Alexei talks about what he's been up to. The recent dig he was on in the southwest, the girl he thinks he may love, his career aspirations and how much Katya loves playing hockey. She's good at it, too, and he beams with pride as he shows off pictures and video.

In turn, Viktor describes the Palace and what to expect, talks about the painful process of recovery and getting back on the ice while making appearances and meeting with people over tea or meals. Alexei asks about the engagement and he's the first person Viktor talks to about the quiet moment in Yuuri's sitting room and, later, the necklaces Yuuri'd commissioned for them. They're awake, talking, for hours, sleep driven away by the comfort of having each other around. It's been ages since they've had time like this.

A couple of hours before landing, he wakes the rest of his family for breakfast. Katya, still sleepy, rests her head on the table in between sips of milky, heavily-sweetened tea, and Hilaire grumbles around a cup of straight black coffee. Breakfast is warmed pastries. It's simple, nothing too fancy, but they're amazing and very quickly gone.

By the time they land, everyone is as presentable as you can get after an eleven-hour flight. Viktor adjusts his tie as they taxi to where they'll be disembarking on the tarmac, and Katya stands after they come to a stop.

“Pupsik, wait until they tell us to get off, they have to get things ready,” Viktor says.

Alexei looks at him. “What are they doing, rolling out the red carpet?”

“Green, actually,” Viktor says. “The Royal Family has a green-and-gold motif.”

“Are you serious?”

“Did you miss the ‘royal' part of ‘royal family'? That's how things are done.”

Katya looks towards the door, then out the window. “There are a lot of people,” she says.

Viktor walks over and looks out. “Yes, there are. You don't have to talk to them, though. That crowd is all the press,” he says, pointing, “and those people are the staff who will be getting our luggage. Do you see Yuuri and his family?”

She shakes her head.

“Look, he has the really shiny crown on and a blue shirt.”

Squinting, she nods. “He looks different.” She's talked to Yuuri since they'd met in Russia but it was always over a private video call, when Yuuri and Viktor were dressed down for the night.

“His hair's back and he isn't wearing his glasses. He's still Yuuri, though. He'll still be happy to see you.”

“I know,” she says. “Is that his sister?”

“The taller woman is Mari, yes. The shorter is his mother, Hiroko. Do you remember forms of address?”

She nods, moving back towards their family. “I do, Maman and Mamulya made sure.” It’s clear she’s still nervous when they ask everyone to move to the front of the plane. She smoothes her dress, fiddles with her hair, and, when Viktor offers his hand, takes it, squeezing his fingers.

The door opens. Viktor goes first, Katya at his side, and waves at the press before making his way down the stairs. Katya follows suit, smiling at the crowds and giving a small wave, herself. Their moms come behind them with Lyosha, presumably also greeting everyone, and when Viktor reaches the bottom, Yuuri and his family move forward, all excited behind their carefully cultivated smiles.

“Welcome back,” Yuuri says to Viktor, smiling before turning to the rest of Viktor's family, “I'm delighted to have all of you here.”

“Thank you,” Katya whispers.

Yuuri glances at the crowd and smiles at her. “Have you met my family? I know my mom and sister have talked to your moms and Alexei before. Have they talked to you?”

She shakes her head.

Yuuri gestures for his mom and sister to come over from greeting the rest of Viktor's family. “This is my mom, Queen Hiroko,” he says.

Hiroko smiles and offers her hand, letting Katya shake it briefly.

“And this is my sister, Crown Princess Mari.”

“Hi,” Mari says, bending slightly so she's closer to Katya's eye level. “It's nice to meet you. Ekaterina, right?”

“I like Katya better,” she replies, eyes flicking to the cameras nearby.

“Katya, then,” Mari says, drawing her attention back. “You can call me Mari.”

“It's a pretty name.”

“Thank you!” Mari straightens, glancing between Viktor and Alexei. “This is going to be fun, I've never seen you two in the same place before.”

Pink spreads across the tips of Yuuri's ears, but no one else seems to notice in the excitement. Viktor throws his arm over Alexei's shoulder, smiling. “At least you know me, imagine if you'd met us at the same time!”

“You'll be fine, Your Highness,” Alexei says, “it'll be easier than you think, don't worry.” Viktor doesn't miss his brother's eyes move to Yuuri as well but thankfully he says nothing about their first encounter. Katya looks back at the cameras and the crowd of people accompanying them. Putting his hand on her back, Viktor leans over and whispers in her ear.

“Do you want to leave?”

When she nods, Viktor rubs a small circle on her back before moving over to Yuuri.

“Let's go home,” he says to his fiancé, with a pointed glance at his little sister.

Understanding, Yuuri nods and kisses him softly on the lips. “Of course. They want a few posed pictures of everyone, is that okay?”

Leaning down again, Viktor looks Katya in the eyes. “They want to get some pictures of all of us together, are you okay with that?”

Katya nods. “Uh huh. And then we can go?”

“Of course.” Turning to Yuuri, he nods, and after some arranging by the Palace Photographer and P.R. person, they all pose with smiles. Both Viktor and Alexei keep their hands on Katya's back, reassuring her for the half-minute they stand there, and then they file into the waiting limousine.

Katya ends up between Alexei and Mari at the far end, with their moms in between them and Viktor and Yuuri, Makkachin curled up on the floor at their feet. Yuuri settles happily into his side for the drive, Viktor's arm resting on his shoulders. He can't keep himself from pressing a few kisses to Yuuri's hair, from pulling him a bit closer.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you, too,” Yuuri says. Katya and Mari laugh, pulling his attention, and he smiles. “They seem to be getting along well,” he says.

“Yeah.” Viktor says, looking at their sisters. Mari is pointing out landmarks now, grinning as she tells Katya stories about them.

There’s a small gasp when they pull through the Palace gates, Katya leaning over Mari to look out the window.

“This is where you live?” she asks her.

“Yes,” Mari answers. “I grew up here. I can show you around some, later, if you’d like. We could even go swimming.”

“You have a pool?”

“We do!” Mari says. “And it’s indoors and heated, so we don’t have to worry about the snow. Would you like to go swimming once you’re all settled in?”

Nodding vigorously, Katya leans against the window as they pull up.

Yuuri is the first out of the car, Viktor following, and Katya takes his hand once more, holding tightly as they go up the stairs. “Vitya,” she whispers.

“What is it?”

“We forgot our luggage again.”

“Staff is going to take it in,” he reassures, “don’t worry.” She nods. “Wait, what do you mean ‘again'?”

“Maman almost forgot our fancy clothes. We had to go get them. It’s why we were late.”

“Ahh, I see,” Viktor laughs.

Katya looks around again, now at the footmen lining the halls. “Are they bowing to you, too?”

At a glance Viktor sees the staff along the walls bowing just before Yuuri reaches them, pointedly holding it until Viktor has passed. Smart girl, to have picked up on that little bit, and Viktor nods. “They are. I’m going to be King-Consort, so they’re treating me like I’m already royal.”

As they approach the residential area Yuuri’s posture visibly eases. Katya observes as they walk, eyes going from the lush carpet to the pristine and finely-upholstered furniture to the walls and ceilings, gilded as they are. The residential wing is decidedly more relaxed, staff members merely nodding instead of bowing or snapping to attention as they pass.

Hiroko gives sort of a mini-tour as they follow Yuuri through the halls, her arm hooked through Alexei’s. They head straight to a nice lunch and fresh, hot tea waiting for them at the table.

Ever patient, Mari teaches Katya the finer points of using chopsticks, gently adjusting her hand as needed with whispered instructions. “Don't worry if you still aren't very good,” Mari reassures. “At the big dinner we're going to have forks and knives and spoons so it's easier.”

Smile full of gratitude, Katya nods and works on picking things up with renewed enthusiasm. Hana arrives and is introduced to Viktor’s family. Yuuri takes a few minutes to explain his relationship with her, that it was to her he was referring when he discussed the sister he lived with, and with new understanding they smile and pull her into conversation.

 

The privacy of their bedroom offers the chance for a moment to breathe. Once the door’s shut behind them, Makkachin looking for new smells with Nori following, Yuuri gravitates over, wrapping his arms around Viktor.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you, too.” Holding Yuuri in his arms again offers relief for the ache in Viktor’s heart, is comforting in a way he hadn’t entirely realized he’d been missing.

Smiling, Yuuri pulls back and presses a tender kiss to his lips. “I watched your interviews. Does Makkachin know that you aggressively talk about him when you don’t want to answer questions?”

With a laugh, Viktor pulls his fiancé closer. “Makkachin’s okay with it, he doesn’t like prying journalists either.”

“Of course,” Yuuri murmurs.

Many of the journalists who’ve worked with Viktor frequently know that once he’s answering questions about the difficulties of living royal with stories about Makkachin enjoying specific armchairs in certain sitting rooms, he’s done talking. The vast majority move on to less invasive questions or a different topic, but some keep prying. They’re rewarded with more stories about Makkachin, commentary on how Makka’s preferences for Viktor’s clothing depends only on whether or not he’s allowed to jump up when Viktor’s wearing it or how he loves to watch the koi fish in the palace ponds when they’re out on the grounds.

One journalist, frustrated, had asked when it was Viktor would stop talking about his dog.

In turn, Viktor’d asked when he was going to stop prying into topics Viktor clearly doesn’t want to discuss. The man had taken the hint.

 

They change into pajamas, Viktor pulling on the thick jinbei he’s grown to love in his time here before wrapping his arms around his fiancé again and blowing a raspberry into his neck. Yuuri giggles, light and airy in the quiet of their room as he twists around. “Tea?”

Viktor nods.

The time it takes for the water to boil offers more opportunities to cuddle and they end up standing chest-to-chest, arms around each other as they move in imitation of a dance. It’s really just swaying side-to-side as they turn in lazy circles. Yuuri’s head rests on Viktor’s chest as they move, he massages circles into Viktor’s lower back with his fingers, and Viktor buries his nose in Yuuri’s hair. They use the same shampoo and conditioner, but something about it being _Yuuri_ turns the scent from something artificial into _home._

Despite it only being only November, the night air is bitterly cold. Plans to share their tea on the balcony are quickly aborted in favor of curling up in front of the fire in a nearby sitting room. Technically it’s part of the suite of rooms designated for the King’s use, into which Yuuri’d slowly been branching out as time went on. In the time after they’d arrived it had been harder for him; the chaos of taking the throne and coming home mixed with the influx of threats and general stress had meant he hadn’t bothered exploring as much. Now, as he’s settled mostly into his life, he has both the time and inclination to explore the rest of the rooms and start to make them his. Several had been redecorated. Not completely, there’s an image to maintain as far as the King’s Apartments go, but changes in upholstery and layout had been made, art had been moved around and replaced.

Viktor still finds it strange that Yuuri doesn’t see anything weird about it.

“It’s just what you do,” he’d said when Viktor had asked. “My father had several rooms extensively redecorated when he took the throne. It’s part of establishing yourself and making the apartments feel more homey.”

‘More homey’ isn’t a phrase Viktor’d thought to apply to a literal palace, but he can see what Yuuri means. The legacy of royalty means inheriting everything. Titles, properties, living spaces… very little Yuuri has now is purely his own, so he changes what he’s inherited to put his mark on it. It makes a statement to others— that he’s here to stay, that he’s accepted his role and is doing his utmost to embody it— and it gives him a much-needed sense of control over his own environment and life. In the grand scheme of things, changing a few pieces of art and furniture around isn’t much at all, but it means the world to Yuuri.

Small and decidedly plainer than most, the sitting room they’re in has a fireplace just next to the window, lit and filling the room with a comforting warmth. Makkachin hops easily onto the couch next to them. Nori does her best to jump up as well, but it’s just barely too high and after the third time she falls to the ground, Yuuri takes pity on her, reaching down to scoop her up and set her next to the larger dog. Instead, she drapes half her body across Viktor’s lap with her hind legs resting on the couch. He scratches behind her ears.

As they sit, Yuuri tells him what’s been happening recently. In the interests of better representation for his people, Yuuri’s designated that the elected officials previously working only as delegates would actually have some level of political power. Instead of merely suggesting things the people in their districts need, they’re now able to effectively make laws alongside the nobility, in many cases able to overrule in favor of their constituents. Much of the nobility isn’t exactly happy about the decrease in power, having preferred to have absolute authority over the districts and provinces under their control, but Isamu had managed to get them to agree to the necessity of such a change.

The people, still, are angry. Aside from the pressures on the Royal Family to serve only the interests of the upper class, they’re angry about the rights they’ve been denied. They’re angry about the outdated laws on the books and the confusing and redundant bureaucracy with regards to getting anything but the most basic tasks done. Furious, Akitsushima’s citizenry has been demanding change for years, and with the monarch on their side that’s what they’re getting. By now, the nobility know that to deny representation of this sort is to risk losing any shred of prestige and control they have along with their sovereign's approval.

 

“The investigation's mostly over,” Yuuri says, quiet as they watch the flames die down. “They're clearing up a few loose ends and figuring out sentencing now, what exactly to do about Takeda and Yoshida’s families and properties. Some of their staff is facing prison time. Some staff for a few other nobles.”

“Other nobles were involved?”

“No, but their staff… Some of their advisors were pushing them in certain directions, keeping them from getting suspicious. Lying to them and my father about suspected threats.”

“What?” Pulling back, Viktor frowns.

Lip trembling, Yuuri stares at the fire. “We had a _few_ genuine threats while I was gone.” His voice is suddenly shaking with a quiet fury. “A lot of them, though, were lies. False leads meant to keep my dad on his toes and distracted.”

“Oh, _Yuuri.”_ Setting his tea on the hearth, he turns to pull Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri comes gladly, wrapping himself around Viktor in search of comfort. Having been terrified for his entire life, Yuuri'd had it bad enough but to find out that people had been cruel enough to cause such fear on _purpose…_ How that must feel is unimaginable.

Now sobbing into Viktor's shirt, Yuuri grips the back of it like a lifeline, as if Viktor is all that's between him and a horribly unkind world. Though it feels futile, Viktor holds him close and kisses his hair as he cries.

 

Viktor wakes a few hours later to the sounds of metal on stone, an attendant stoking the fire back to life. They jump when they see him watching.

Glancing at Yuuri, they say in a low whisper “I'm sorry, sir, I tried not to wake you.”

Viktor nods, smiling, and pulls Yuuri closer. Sound asleep, Yuuri is a dead weight in his arms and for an instant, Viktor remembers the rag doll he was when he was drugged, how unresponsive he was to any sort of stimulus, how _terrified_ Viktor had felt. The feel of Yuuri nuzzling into him, making sleepy noises brushes the image aside. He's merely asleep. They're safe.

Strangely familiar, the attendant puts wood on the fire, pushes the embers close enough to catch while taking care not to smother them. As it comes back to life the attendant smiles and nods, and as he stands Viktor remembers where he's seen him before.

“Jiro,” he says quietly.

Jiro turns. “Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Viktor shakes his head. “That'll be it, we'll be going to bed soon. Have a good night.”

“And yourself, sir,” he replies, bowing before he leaves the room.

Viktor takes a few minutes to watch the fire, crackling merrily in the hearth. The more he considers what Yuuri said, the worse it is. He was so young. They had to have known hiding was hard on a kid, and to prolong it intentionally, with the hopes of directly scaring the family as a whole, all for their own ends is disgusting at best. Sadistic at worst, and Viktor pulls Yuuri just a bit closer despite his now-aching joints.

A few minutes later, Viktor's taken all the discomfort he feels he can reasonably handle so he presses gentle kisses to Yuuri's forehead until he stirs.

“What?” he mutters.

“Let's get to bed, Lyubov,” Viktor says.

“I'm comfy.”

“I'm not.”

Nodding, Yuuri pulls himself away and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “How long were we asleep?”

Viktor glances at the clock on the mantle. “Only about an hour or so.”

“Mmm.” Once he's standing, Yuuri holds out his hand for Viktor's and hoists him to his feet. Between the weird positioning he'd been in and the abrupt use of his chest and back muscles it hurts, and Viktor bites back a hiss as he massages his side.

“Ribs?” Hands ghosting over the site of the breaks, Yuuri looks concerned.

“Yeah, but it'll pass soon enough.” Painful though it is, it's a mere fraction of the pain he'd had trying to just breathe a few months ago, a fact for which he's eternally grateful.

Having finally figured out they're heading to bed, the dogs stretch languidly and hop off the couch. Nori trots ahead of them as they walk, frequently looking back to make sure she’s still being followed. Makka plods along at Viktor’s side, smacking his lips after he yawns. Yuuri stays close, threading his arm through Viktor’s in a comfortable reversal to how they’re expected to present themselves in public as they walk the short distance to their rooms.

 

“I’ve missed this bed,” Viktor sighs happily as he crawls under the covers.

“It’s missed you, too.” Yuuri snuggles close as Makkachin jumps up to join them. Nori, being far too small, skitters up the ramp Yuuri’d had made so she can get up unaided, plopping herself next to Makkachin. Makka licks her forehead once before laying back down. When Viktor turns, Yuuri’s propped up on one elbow, smiling at the dogs. Laughing, Viktor leans up as well, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

Yuuri smiles. “They’re adorable,” he says, “don’t judge.”

“Never, Lyubov,” Viktor responds, pulling his fiancé close. “You know I wouldn’t. Not about the dogs, at least.”

With a giggle, Yuuri leans over and kisses Viktor tenderly before laying back down. Legs entwined, arms wrapped around each other, they settle in. It’s good to be home, good to be in Yuuri’s arms. Good to not be going to sleep in a quiet room with only Makkachin’s snores to keep him company and with one last kiss, Viktor closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep.

 

~*~

 

In the few days after their arrival, Viktor's family tours the city. While Viktor and Yuuri accompany them to dinner and a play and take them to the false castle on the hill opposite the Palace, they don't have much time time to be running around the city with the preparations for the ball.

Katya is delighted that Yuuri's face is on most of the money circulating, showing him a shiny coin with his coronation portrait while Alexei looks on. Yuuri covers what slight discomfort he has easily, instead smiling and taking a selfie when Katya asks for one with him. This, along with the ones they'd taken during outings, Alexei uploads to a shared Google Drive folder. Mari takes Katya to lunch a few days before the party, just the two of them, and when they come back they're holding hands and laughing quietly.

Based on the pictures they show Viktor, Alexei spends much of his time out of the Palace with some sort of hat on his head, his hair tucked up underneath. It doesn’t entirely stop people from recognizing him, he tells Viktor when asked, but it lessens the awkward explanation after a person approaches and bows. Viktor grimaces, but Alexei throws his arm around his shoulders, making him stagger as they walk through the halls.

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” he chirps, “there’s no reason for you to feel bad.”

“You're not uncomfortable?”

“Vitka,” Alexei says, “some of your fans are weird. I had someone ask me to sign her ass, once. At a presentation.”

“She thought you were me?”

“Yeah, but when she found out I wasn't, she said I was close enough. I told her to fuck off. Anyway, after that sort of thing, people treating me like Royalty isn't so bad.” He sighs. “Vitka. I'm okay with everything. Stop thinking you're a problem. It's not your fault people are like that.”

“Fine, fine.”

They walk in silence for a moment, turning a corner to a hallway lined with windows overlooking the city. The sun streams through the windows and glimmers on the distant ocean under a clear blue sky.

Alexei pauses, taking in the view. “It's beautiful, here.”

“It is.” Despite the snow, the city below is bustling with activity. The docks are lined with boats large enough to be seen from this distance and traffic snakes through the streets. “The sunrise over the ocean is particularly nice.”

“We should watch sometime.” Turning towards Viktor, he smiles. “Like we used to. Go out on the roof with some hot chocolate, bundle up and just. Sit.”

“It’s been too long.”

“Mr. Nikiforov!” An attendant strides over and stops in front of them. This would usually be the point where they bow, but instead their eyes flick between Viktor and Alexei for a moment, before Alexei points subtly at Viktor and they nod and bow. “Mr. Nikiforov, I’ve been asked to inform you that the location for your meeting with His Royal Majesty has been changed from his working office, to the formal, and to warn you that there will be a press photographer there as you’re briefed.”

Viktor nods. “Thank you, I’ll meet His Majesty at the prescribed time.”

Once the attendant is out of earshot, Alexei looks at him. “What’s been going on? Can you talk about it?”

“I can’t give details, but suffice to say, there’s a list of people we’re prosecuting, and a whole host of evidence to back it up.”

“The people who hurt you and Yuuri will be brought to justice?” Tone dark, Alexei seems angrier than he’s been when talking about the investigation before.

Looking at his brother, Viktor nods again. “They will, Lyosha. Don’t worry.”

“Good.”

Viktor suspects that if the judicial system wouldn’t do its job, Alexei would, and he feels a surge of gratitude as he puts his arm over his brother’s shoulder, steering him forcefully towards the dining room.

 

~*~

 

Small hands are covering Viktor's eyes as he comes to consciousness in a library armchair, and he hears a girl giggling behind him.

“Vitya,” whispers the mouth next to his ear and he smiles.

“Hello, Pupsik,” he says, and his little sister removes her hands, moving to stand in front of him.

“Vitya guess what?”

“What?” He asks, humoring her as Alexei pulls him to standing.

“Mamulya knows how to find the library without help.”

“Does she, now?” He hugs his mothers, kissing each of them.

“Well, _yeah._ We're here. You remember she was out here when you were hurt, right?”

“Of course I do,” Viktor says, taking his sister's hand as he goes to guide them out. A glance at the ornate clock on one of the mantles says it's about lunch time, so he heads to the dining room.

“When did you guys get in from the museum?” Viktor asks.

“Just a bit ago,” Hilaire answers. “They had someone offer to guide us but your mother just asked where you were and said we'd be fine when we were told. Isn't she _amazing?”_

Blushing, Alexandra smiles. “They say Yuuri's extended family is arriving today?”

“Yeah,” Viktor says as he nods. “They should be here soon, if they aren’t already.” He stands, heading towards the door. “Phichit’s coming tomorrow, he’s a friend of Yuuri’s.”

As expected when they get towards the front of the Palace, the staff is in a flurry. At the main entryway, Yuuri is greeting his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Ushering his family over, Viktor smiles.

“Your Highnesses, hello!”

“Viktor!” Emi exclaims. “And this must be the archaeologist brother,” she says to Alexei.

“I am,” Alexei replies with a bow at the neck. Viktor glances at Hilaire. Hilaire looks decidedly smug and must have talked people through basic protocol. Part of Viktor feels uncomfortable, the rest is relieved, and he smiles.

“Moms, Lyosha, Katya, this is Yuuri’s uncle, Grand Duke Isamu and his wife, Grand Duchess Emi, and their children, Prince Kaoru, Princess Kiyomi, and Princess Rie. Your Highnesses, this is my Maman, Hilaire, my Mamulya, Alexandra, my twin brother—”

_“Older_ twin brother.”

_“Barely older_ twin brother Alexei, and my sister Katya.” Viktor flashes a glare at his brother, but smiles at his future in-laws. Hands are shaken, Emi chatting happily with Viktor’s moms, and Rie gravitates towards Katya.

“How do you tell them apart?” she whispers, glancing between Viktor and Alexei.

“I just guess,” Katya says with a smile. Rie giggles, and Katya looks over at Alexei. “I’m just joking,” she says, “Lyosha has more arm muscles and wears shorts and Vitya always plays with his hair. And Lyosha’s the one with freckles.”

“Vitka gets freckles!” Alexei protests, “he’s just not in the sun enough for them to stay.”

Viktor smiles as he feels Yuuri’s arm snake around his waist. “My mom and Mari and Hana should be here any minute,” he says, “we’ll all be going to eat together.”

“Is Hana eating with us on your birthday, too?”

Yuuri nods. “She and Phichit, along with your family, are considered Guests of Distinction, according to the Director of the Household, which means they’re like… my personal guests. Which they are. Don’t worry, they won’t be somewhere all the way across the room, they’ll be with us the entire time.”

Humming, Viktor nods and kisses Yuuri’s cheek. “This is nice,” he says, looking at the room full of their family.

“It is,” Yuuri replies, smiling. “It really is.”

 

Though they're in one of the formal dining rooms due to the sheer number of people, Yuuri makes it clear that he wants the meal to be casual. Katya’s relatively familiar with how this goes, having shared meals with him over the last few days, but the addition of his family seems to complicate things for her. Suddenly nervous, she gravitates back towards Viktor.

“What do I call them?” she asks in what’s meant to be a whisper. Everyone hears, turning towards her, and she presses herself closer to Viktor, suddenly shy.

“Take my lead,” Viktor says, gently rubbing her back, “okay?”

Alexei smiles. “Don't worry, if you make a mistake no one's going to be upset. You're learning.”

“Your brother is right,” Emi adds, bending down to her level. “We're going to be family once Yuuri-sama and Viktor get married, we want everyone to feel comfortable. You can call me Emi-san, and my husband is Isamu-san. Just think of us as Yuuri-sama’s aunt and uncle, okay?”

Katya nods.

Stepping forward, Kaoru smiles as well. “You can just call my sisters and me by our first names. You’re going to be our cousin soon, and that makes you family.”

“Thank you,” Katya whispers.

“Yuuri-sama?” Rie asks.

“Yes, Rie-chan?”

“May I sit next to Katya?” Though Rie's tone has that vague distance it normally does, there's a smile on her face and an undercurrent of excitement.

Yuuri nods. “Of course!”

Katya looks excitedly at Rie, likely happy to have someone her age to talk to. “Yuuri, do you think we can go to the pool later?”

“We'll see,” Alexandra says. “It may not be today, we still need to talk to the Queen about the celebrations and everything.”

“I _know_ about the celebration,” Katya says, “Maman _explained_ already.”

“Don’t mouth back to your mother.” Hilaire gives her a pointed look. “You will be free to go to the pool when we say you’re free and no earlier. You’ve never been to a celebration like this, it’s not just another birthday party. We need to talk with Queen Hiroko and Mrs. Okukawa about the upcoming photo shoot and how the celebration is going to go, and we should at least spend some time with our future in-laws outside of meals and events. We need to make sure we’re done with all of the important stuff before you start gallivanting around the grounds.”

Katya crosses her arms and pouts.

Alexandra rubs her back a bit. “We’ll be here for a few more days, Pupsik, you’ll have plenty of time.”

Nodding, Katya sighs. She and Rie take their seats as everyone else does, scooting their chairs together. Before long food is brought out, waitstaff setting a traditional, individually-served Akitsushiman lunch in front of each person. Tea is poured, and with a bow most of the staff leaves with just a few people standing along the wall to take care of anything that may come up.

 

Lunch goes well, and Yuuri is clearly relieved that their families get along. There's little awkwardness outside of initial confusion about forms of address, and it isn't long until the atmosphere seems relaxed. Emi pulls Alexei into a conversation about his work, their moms and Hana and Mari chat amiably about Hilaire's tailoring work, and Yuuri gets pulled into a conversation with the twins about some event they'd gone to.

Isamu leans over. “You both look well,” he says. It's been a few months since he'd seen either of them in person, having left Hasetsu just before Viktor.

“We are,” Viktor responds. “Yuuri's enjoyed having Nori around, I think she helps.”

“Speaking of, where are the dogs?”

“Being groomed.”

Nodding, Isamu takes a bite. “And training? How is that going?”

“Well. I'm back where I had been, about, and I've been practicing here over the last few days. I feel good.”

“And Nationals are when again?”

“The weekend of December 25th.” It irritates Viktor less than people think it would, having a competition on his birthday, and it's always fun seeing birthday messages from fans.

Isamu nods. “And you're going back to St. Petersburg straight away.”

“Yes, I typically have a lot of publicity to do directly following the competition.” He typically wins, he means, and he already has a slew of media appearances and interviews on his schedule. The outcome doesn't matter by this point. If he wins, they'll celebrate his comeback. If he loses they'll ask why, probably praise him for trying after recovering from his injuries.

In addition, the world is still dying for a glimpse into his life with Yuuri, so he's anticipating that being a topic of conversation at most if not all of these upcoming interviews. Minako’s been kind enough to work with him on answers, how to phrase them and what to avoid with regards to personal information. There's not much she’d had to say that he didn't already have an idea of, but the refresher was good nonetheless.

“I hear you received honors when you returned to St. Petersburg?”

Viktor nods, going on to give an account of the dinner and his awards. Isamu wears a proud smile as he congratulates him, clapping him gently on the back, before they move on to talking about Isamu’s time away from Hasetsu. He’d moved home once the arrests were made, working with Yuuri from a distance while the investigations ran their course. They’re moving along, albeit slowly, and Isamu reassures Viktor that despite the fight Takeda and Yoshida are putting up, they’re frazzled, scrabbling for leads on anything that could keep them out of trouble.

The leads they do find have been flimsy at best, but the judicial system is taking the time to counteract them properly rather than trying to handwave them away. Yuuri’s directive is that everything be done thoroughly, and the system is complying.

 

~*~

 

“You both are looking well,” Phichit says as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Yuuri, did you know the entire world is going apeshit about your birthday?”

Yuuri grimaces. “They always have and I'm home, now. I'm not surprised. You saw the speeches my dad used to make.”

“Even Bangkok's talking about it.” Taking the tea Yuuri holds out, Phichit sips it as they pull out of the hangar. “Your face is everywhere, it’s ridiculous.”

“I'm really not surprised.” Yuuri sighs, turning down the main street. “You brought your gear bag?”

“I figure the best way to fight jet lag is an early practice at Ice Castle tomorrow,” Phichit says. “I have to keep training for the final!”

Grinning, Yuuri nods. “I'm excited to watch!”

“Well, I'm excited to meet the new puppy. Can I take pictures with her?”

“Of course.”

“And post them?”

Yuuri looks at his best friend and smiles. “Sure, just tag me.”

“Really,” Phichit says, “you guys should just make an Instagram for your five million dogs.”

“We only have _two,”_ Yuuri protests.

Phichit levels him with a disbelieving look. “For _now._ We all know how much both of you love dogs.”

Laughing, Yuuri nods again, stopping at a light. “Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it. I'm a bit busy running the country.”

“Viktor's not.” Phichit turns in his seat, smiling. “I mean, I know he's training for his big comeback, but come on. Dogs.”

At this, Viktor laughs too. “When I have a moment I'll make a Royal Dogs of Akitsushima Instagram.”

Yuuri flashes a peace sign at the guards as he approaches the gates to the palace and they bow as they let him through. Slowly, he drives through the grounds, keeping an eye out for the unusual amount of groundskeeping crew working to perfect everything before the party. Preparations are in full swing, now, with the decorations being polished and updated and the event rooms being set up. The day of Yuuri's birthday is filled to the brim, with Hana planning on a surprise breakfast, Hiroko cooking Katsudon for the early lunch they'll be having, and then a banquet and ball in the evening with hundreds of guests in attendance.

Their arrival is heralded by the barking of both dogs, each being held by an attendant so they don't run at the car. When they get out, the dogs are let loose and Makkachin bounces happily towards Phichit, jumping up and knocking him over. Nori, tail wagging excitedly, sniffs the new arrival before licking him with enthusiastic approval.

“Hi, Nori,” Phichit laughs, picking her up and holding her at arm’s length above him. “You’re a cutie.”

“Isn’t she?” Yuuri smiles, before walking over to take his dog. “Anyway, let’s get inside.” Tucking Nori under his arm, he smiles, poking her nose before scratching behind her ears.

 

Phichit gets along magnificently with the rest of Yuuri’s family. They eat dinner together, excited about the upcoming festivities, and the (other) twins don’t hesitate to grill Phichit about what his life was like with Yuuri. Despite his best efforts to answer vaguely, the twins are inquisitive with three more questions for every answer he gives. After ten minutes of Phichit talking himself in circles, Yuuri gives him permission to open up just a bit. Phichit won’t tell them anything too embarrassing.

Half an hour later, Phichit calls it quits on the questioning, citing a need to actually eat his food. Kiyomi looks like she wants to keep pressing, but after a glance at Yuuri she just nods and goes back to her dinner without comment.

 

~*~

 

The parlor Viktor and his family are in for tea is well-lit and pleasantly warm with the fireplace alight. Makkachin is curled up in front of it, Nori a small ball of fluff on top of him.

“Vitya have you ever played hockey?” Katya's leaning over the table, her long blond hair hanging dangerously close to the half-finished bowl of tapioca in front of her.

“Lyosha and I used to play some when we were little,” he replies, “but other than that I haven't.”

“Do you remember how?”

“I know the basics, but not much more, why?”

“We should go to the rink and play,” she says.

Alexandra glances at Viktor. “Pupsik, when your brother's at the rink he needs to practice his routines, you _know_ he has important competitions coming up.” Her voice is sure, tinged with some level of dismay at having to deny Katya something she clearly wants for Viktor’s sake and he can’t help but wonder how often it’s been. How many times Katya’s asked for some form of contact or bonding with him and they’ve had to crush her hopes because Viktor’s been so wrapped up in his career. Disappointed, Katya looks back at her pudding, pushes some around with her spoon as she avoids Viktor’s eyes. It breaks his heart.

“Actually,” he says, “that sounds nice.”

Eyes snapping upward, it’s clear Katya didn’t expect him to want to play with her at all, but the corner of her lips twitches with a smile. “Really?”

Viktor nods. “I’d love to! We can see if the rink has sticks and a puck we can use—”

“And nets!!”

“— and nets, but I can use my own skates. We should be able to no problem.”

“Are you sure?” Glancing at their moms, Katya seems to shrink just a bit.

“I’m sure. I promise, we’ll play before you leave.”

The door opens, Mari peeking her head through before she smiles and comes in, closing it behind her.

“Vitya, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt but I have a favor to ask.” Striding across the room, she gestures at the lone empty chair at the table. Viktor nods permission and she sits. “Vitya, how long does it take to make a cake?”

“From scratch?” Viktor looks at his moms, then back at Mari. “Five or six hours would be my guess. Assuming it needs to cool and then be iced as well. Why?”

“I want to bake one for Yuuri.” Earnest, she leans forward in her chair, staring at Viktor.

“For his birthday?”

“Yes.”

“It’s tomorrow.”

Mari sighs, leaning back. “I know it’s tomorrow, but I want… I want to bake this for him. I want to make something nice for him that’s more than just buying him whatever trinket I think he’ll like. I haven’t had the chance for years.”

“I don’t bake much, but I’ll do what I can,” Viktor offers.

“There’s no need,” Hilaire says, leaning forward, “we can help. You and Phichit keep Yuuri from getting curious, Vitka.”

“You’d do that?” Mari asks. “You’d help?”

“Of course!” Leaning back in her chair, Hilaire smiles at the princess. “We know how special this birthday is, we’d love to make it as good as possible. Do you have a recipe in mind?”

Sheepish, Mari looks around the room, before shrugging. “Chocolate?”

Hilaire and Alexandra look at each other and back at Mari, before Alexandra leans forward. “We can work with that. We’ll need to get started soon, do you want to change into something casual so you don’t get your kimono dirty?”

“Of course,” Mari says, nodding. “I can meet you at your rooms whenever you’re ready. I appreciate this. A lot.” She shares a smile with Viktor as she stands. “I’ll leave you guys to your tea, I just… Well. I’ll notify the kitchens and will see you soon.”

“We’ll have Vitka let you know,” Alexandra says. “We promise.”

On her way out, Mari looks back again. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “This means a great deal to me.” With a wave, she vanishes.

All eyes turn to Viktor, and Hilaire leans forward. “How much kitchen experience does she have?”

Grimacing, Viktor glances back at the door. “Minimal. If that. Yuuri couldn’t cook well, remember? He had more opportunity to learn.”

Quiet for a moment, Hilaire seems to consider this before nodding and looking at her wife. “We’ve taught three children to cook already, we can handle one more.”

“That we can, darling,” Alexandra agrees with a smile.

 

Viktor’s job of keeping Yuuri distracted is made easier by the fact that Yuuri and Phichit vanish into the media room to play video games with Yuuri’s twin cousins. Viktor feigns very mild disappointment and shoos Makkachin and Nori along, making some excuse about swimming laps and not wanting the dogs to jump in with him. Yuuri smiles, more than ready to keep an eye on the rascals. They hug, kiss, and Viktor waves as they walk away. With his newfound freedom, Viktor decides to do what he’d said he would and go swimming.

The water isn’t particularly cold when he jumps in, nor is it particularly warm. A few languid moments are spent floating on his back, staring at the skylights in the ceiling. Though the grounds are blanketed in snow, the skylights show only a cold blue sky, cloudless as far as Viktor can see. He swims a few idle laps, careful not to overwork his still-healing ribs, but otherwise doesn’t do much. The quiet is too nice, the solitude too comforting, and he relishes the moment he has to himself. It’s okay to take time, he knows, but there’s still a part of him that says he ought to be training, ought to be working, ought to be doing something more productive than just… floating. He shoves it aside. Even Lilia had said he ought to take some time to relax, and if he’s finding that relaxation here he’s going to take full advantage of it.

By the time he gets out his fingers and toes are puckered much like the raisins he’d poured on his cereal this morning, his hair dripping trails down his back as he reaches for his towel. The sun is shining through the many windows in full force, illuminating the room with a warm glow. It’s serene. It’s calm. It’s perfect, and Viktor almost regrets pulling on his bathrobe for his walk to the changing rooms.

 

According to an attendant he asks on the way out, Yuuri’s still busy with Phichit, so Viktor changes into something warm and comfortable for a stroll across the grounds. Crisp and cool, the air bites at his cheeks, tosses the ends of his scarf and bangs to and fro when the breeze picks up. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he perseveres.

The Palace is huge, and walking the perimeter is no easy feat. It’d be impossible if Viktor didn’t have the security clearance that comes with being a resident, there are several guarded gates separating public areas from private and he has to flash his ID each time he goes through. The grounds slope down on one side. Wet and icy grass means he struggles to keep his footing though he doesn’t fall. A few more minutes of walking takes him towards the external door to the kitchens, and as he approaches he hears a window open.

“Vitya!”

Katya’s hanging out the window, waving in his direction. He walks over.

“What is it, Pupsik?”

“Come see the— Come see the you-know-what!”

Jogging over, Viktor opens the kitchen door, knocking the snow off his boots before he walks in. Katya meets him at the entrance, grabbing his hand and pulling him to where they’re making the cake. Laughter drifts through the door before it’s opened to show Mari standing with a piping bag and blue icing all over her hands.

“Oh, dear,” Alexandra says. “Well, that’s what happens when you overfill the piping bag. Wash your hands with dish soap and I’ll get this cleaned up enough for you to finish.”

Mari shakes her head, moving to put another dollop of blue icing on the cake. It contrasts nicely with the brown base layer, and Viktor moves closer to see.

“It smells like coffee,” he notes as he takes in the messy “Happy Birthday, Yuuri!!” across the top.

Nodding, Mari carefully finishes the circle of blue dots. “We put coffee extract in the icing,” she says. “It ought to taste like a mocha.”

“He’s going to love it,” Viktor says.

With a snort and a raised eyebrow, Mari looks at him. “Please, it looks terrible.”

“It was made by you, he’s going to love it regardless of how it stands up next to professional work.”

Frowning as she finishes decorating, Mari eventually sighs. “If you say so. How does it look?”

As she stands back, Viktor sees the flour on her jeans and face, the blue icing mingling with bits of the brown on her hands with a streak of both on her cheek. She’s been working hard, and though she’s out of her element she seems to have seen it through properly. The cake itself, slightly lopsided and shaky, looks good for a first attempt. The writing is legible, the decoration is fairly evenly spaced, if unevenly distributed, and all in all, there aren’t any complaints.

“It’s great, Mari,” Viktor reassures. The princess smiles.

 

“You're _sure_ he's going to like it?” she asks as they set the cake in the cooler.

“I am, I promise.”

Mari nods. “After him being gone, and especially last year I just… I feel like I have to make this birthday amazing.”

She sounds almost guilty and Viktor wants to tell her that Yuuri's last birthday was fine, that he'd had a good night playing video games with Viktor and Phichit, but then he remembers the phone call. It had taken too long to have just been birthday wishes and afterward Yuuri'd looked positively wrecked. Contemplative, Viktor looks at her. “You called him last year, late at night, didn't you?”

With a heavy sigh, Mari nods. “It was the next day, for me, but it was still his birthday in the States.”

“It wasn't just a friendly call.”

“No,” she says, resigned and sorrowful and there's a painful sort of regret in her eyes before she closes them. “I had to… I had to tell him he'd be coming home to take the throne instead of just becoming Regent like we’d thought he would. I didn't realize the time difference until he answered, not that I knew the _exact_ difference to begin with, and by then it was too late to just… It felt horrible. ‘Happy birthday, dad's dying and you're about to be King.’ I… God, I can't imagine how it must have felt.”

“No wonder.”

Mari looks at him then, frowning as she steels herself. “No wonder? What happened, Vitya?”

“He just… Something about the way he approached things was different.”

“Reckless?”

“Not quite. Impulsive, maybe. He seemed more concerned with getting the most out of things than acting strictly normally.”

“Makes sense.” She sighs, looking once again at her handiwork before covering it with a domed silver lid. “You're sure he's going to like it?”

“I'm sure,” Viktor replies. “One hundred percent.”

 

~*~

 

The cold winter sun filters through the curtains and over Viktor's face as he wakes up. He turns his back towards the windows, rolling on his side to face Yuuri.

Black hair falling across his face, Yuuri snores lightly, a trail of drool running out of the side of his mouth onto the pillow. Viktor finds himself reaching out, brushing it away with tender love and as his fingertips make contact, Yuuri blinks awake.

“Happy Birthday,” Viktor says, voice gravelly with the remnants of sleep.

“Mmmmm.” Moving closer, Yuuri buries his face in Viktor's chest. “I don't wanna get up.”

Frankly, Viktor agrees with the sentiment so he grabs his phone to see how much time they have. None, really, and he rolls back over.

“Shower and food. Coffee.”

“No.”

“Yuuri.”

Groaning, Yuuri pulls the blanket over his head. “Maybe we just ask for breakfast to be brought here.”

Considering Hana is likely already cooking waffles, and Mari made the cake last night, ditching breakfast won't do so Viktor pulls the blankets back down. “Yuuri,” he says, drawing it out, “it's your _birthday._ Let's spend it with your _family.”_

Still groggy, Yuuri looks at him before nodding in agreement. Their shower is quick but not rushed, punctuated by sweet kisses and soft laughter. Yuuri dresses while Viktor shaves, then styles his hair while Viktor dresses, and is buttoning the waistcoat over his button-up when Viktor moves back over to hug him from behind.

“Your hair is wet,” Viktor complains.

“Then stop sticking your face against it,” Yuuri laughs.

After making a disgruntled noise, Viktor moves away.

 

They arrive at the dining room, dogs in tow, just as the place settings are being put out. The attendants in the room bow and apologize, but look relieved when Yuuri just smiles and says he’s fine with waiting. The number of people who’ll be at breakfast is much larger than normal, despite it being just family, Hana, Minako, and Phichit, so it takes several minutes to get everything set to the Palace’s exacting standards. When they finish, both stand next to the cart they were using and bow to Yuuri, thanking him for being patient as they finished.

“Of course,” he replies, “thank you both for your service. I appreciate it.”

They bow again, and one steps forward. “It’s our honor, Sire. Enjoy your meal.”

“I hope so.” Yuuri’s cheerful demeanor seems to relax the atmosphere, and the attendants stop as they go to leave. The younger of the two turns back.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday, Sire,” she says.

Yuuri looks taken aback, but nods, grinning. “Thank you!”

Smiling, she and the other attendant leave them to themselves. Yuuri sits at one of the shorter ends of the table, but Viktor hesitates before he takes his own seat.

“Vitya, what’s wrong?” Yuuri asks.

“Lyubov, do you want to sit with your family right now?”

“What?”

Viktor glances around the room and sits next to his fiancé. “I was thinking you might want to sit with your mom and sister today. It’s your first birthday home and I got to cuddle with you last year. We’ll have dinner to sit together, and we do every day as it is.”

He looks down for a moment, considering what Viktor said, and then back up with shining eyes. “That sounds really nice, actually. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Viktor brushes Yuuri’s bangs out of his face, eyes tracing over the blue frames of his glasses before meeting Yuuri’s again. “Family’s important, I understand. Celebrate with them, it’s been far too long.”

A tear makes its way down Yuuri’s face as he nods. “I’ve missed them.”

“I know,” Viktor replies, cupping his cheek. “I’m not going to begrudge you spending time with them today, even if you practically ignore me.”

Nodding again, Yuuri wipes his cheeks under his glasses, trying to compose himself. “All- all I had before was a speech from my dad. A phone call, too, starting when I was fourteen, I…”

The door opens and an attendant comes in, stopping short when they see Yuuri. Mari registers what’s going on and turns to them. “No need to announce us,” she says, “please tell the kitchens we’re ready for coffee and tea.”

The attendant nods and leaves the room. Mari walks over to sit on Yuuri’s other side and he turns, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her chest. She frowns at Viktor, eyes flicking to her little brother as she silently asks what’s wrong.

“He’s home this year,” is all Viktor has to say before her face almost crumbles with understanding and she pulls him close.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers to him as their family files in. “It’s been too long since I could say that and hug you.”

Hiroko moves to sit next to Viktor but stops as he stands. A gesture at his chair is all he needs to communicate the plan, and she pulls him into a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers in his ear.

Viktor nods, leaning back, and smiles. “Of course. I’ll sit at the other end with Phichit, you all should celebrate with him.”

Taking her seat, Hiroko wraps her arms around her son as well, whispering to him quietly. Phichit moves to sit nearby but Viktor grabs his arm, gentle and firm, and looks pointedly at the other end of the table. “We had him last year,” he says. Phichit nods. It's more important that Yuuri have time with his family this year, and neither of them have any desire to pull him away.

They sit, Viktor’s family leaving space for Yuuri’s at the end of the table closest to him and they watch, smiling, as Yuuri’s family swarms him in their reserved way, wishing him a happy birthday as they give him hugs and kisses on the cheek.

When Hana walks in, Yuuri’s delighted to see the attendants following with waffles and he stands, rushing around the table to hug her. She holds him close for a moment, wishes him a happy birthday, and shoos him toward his family. Fifteen years she had to celebrate with him, and she’s more than comfortable stepping aside this year.

Everyone eats together, digging into the perfectly crisp, fluffy waffles Yuuri’s come to expect as a birthday breakfast. Yuuri slathers his with a fruit sauce as he’s wont to, but most everyone uses whatever it is they prefer and compliments abound. Rie seems astonished that Hana herself could cook like this, moreso that Yuuri loves and is used to her cooking, and seems enthralled when Katya starts telling her about helping her moms in the kitchen. When everyone’s finished eating, another round of coffee and tea is brought, the plates are cleared and smaller ones are put in their places. Yuuri frowns.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

Mari smiles. “Uhh, dessert. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can protest she stands, scurrying out of the room through the door the waitstaff uses. Baffled, Yuuri looks around for the few moments she’s gone and when she comes back in, carrying the cake she made for him with twenty-four candles lit on top, his eyes widen.

“Cake?” he asks.

She nods, setting it in front of him. “Vitya’s moms helped. And Vitya too, some. I wanted to do something nice, and I know it doesn’t look that great but I did my best.”

_“You_ made it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you went down to the kitchens and actually—”

“The piping bag exploded in my hands and the edges of my fingernails are still blue under the polish,” she says, blushing. “Vitya's moms walked me through making it.”

After a long moment of staring at the cake before him, taking in the shakily-piped birthday message, the uneven decoration and slight lopsidedness, Yuuri stands and hugs his sister.

“It’s amazing,” he says. “Perfect. Mari-neechan, I- This is the best birthday _ever.”_

Glancing at his moms, Viktor sees them smiling. They, too, look proud of Mari, happy they could make Yuuri’s birthday that much better, and Hilaire rubs the back of Alexandra’s hand with her thumb, a satisfied smile on her face.

Yuuri blows out his candles to his family’s applause and cuts the cake into even pieces, serving each person up. Viktor’s he delivers with a kiss, Phichit’s with a hug, and for Viktor’s moms he lets himself get pulled into a two-way hug, laughing as they each kiss his cheeks. “Happy birthday,” they say, and he nods as he takes his seat.

“Being able to spend it like this is one of the best gifts I could have asked for.”

When he figures out the coffee flavoring in the icing Yuuri’s positively delighted, hugging Mari yet again before practically inhaling the rest of the piece.

Gifts are exchanged when everyone is done and it’s clear to Yuuri that his family had consulted Hana and Viktor (and, by proxy, Phichit) when he opens the video games and books he’s been wanting. In addition are some finer things; a golden signet ring with the family crest, a ceremonial sword, a new gilded pen set and some other trinkets Yuuri sets carefully aside. From Viktor he gets soft leather gloves and a new everyday watch set, replacing the slightly outdated watch he's been wearing. Gold and silver, they shine in the case when Yuuri opens it.

He raises an eyebrow when he meets Viktor's eyes.

“For daily wear,” Viktor says.

“What's wrong with the one I have?”

“Lyubov.”

Yuuri looks at his watch and back up. “I _like_ this one.”

“It goes with roughly two of your crowns, and not very well. These will go with anything, and they’re lighter weight than the ones you usually wear with your suits, but just as nice.”

Yuuri’s scowl turns into a smile soon enough, and he sets the watches down before looking at the two boxes from Phichit. There’s a smaller box Phichit gestures him to set aside.

“Open the big one, first.”

Clearly suspicious, Yuuri does as Phichit says. The wrapping paper is peeled carefully away, the seal on the cardboard box undone with a small knife, and when Yuuri opens it his breath catches in his throat. He pulls out several pounds of coffee, some of his favorite snacks from the States, a collection of tea and a variety set of burgundy mugs emblazoned with the café’s logo. At the bottom is a new apron, much like the one he’d been wearing when Viktor had met him, name and logo embroidered on the chest. There’s a card in an envelope with his name scrawled across, and he opens it, setting a stack of pictures to the side as he reads. Looking back up, he has tears in his eyes. “You went to the café?”

Phichit nods. “Some of the snacks are from class friends, but yeah. I dropped by a few weeks before I went to Bangkok and said I’d be visiting for your birthday if they wanted to send a card with me or something and the owners said to come back in a week. I did, and, well. They gave me all of that for you. Said you’d always have a home there, no matter what.”

Grateful, Yuuri nods as he picks up the pictures and rifles through them, a fond smile spreading slowly from his lips to his eyes. “It’s just pictures of us,” he says softly as he puts them back in the card. Clearly, they’re special to him and if he wants to show them to anyone, he will. The box is carefully set aside in favor of the smaller one from Phichit.

Inside are teas from Thailand, a selection of snacks Yuuri likes, bath products, and an intricately-carved wooden elephant. As he hugs his best friend Yuuri smiles, whispering his thanks. Rie raises one eyebrow, glancing at her older siblings, but Kiyomi shakes her head.

Viktor's family gives their gifts next, an assortment of trinkets from Russia and a hand-crocheted scarf made by his Mamulya. From Hilaire comes traditional Russian wear, a finely-embroidered shirt and loose blue pants with a red belt and boots to go with. He runs his fingers over the stitching, smiles, and thanks them for their gifts as well. With the gift-giving over, breakfast is at its end.

 

~*~

 

It’s half an hour before lunch starts and there's no sign of Yuuri. He'd gone with someone to put his outfit together for the parade, but that was an hour ago and he hasn't been seen since. Searching for Yuuri ends up bringing Viktor to Hiroko's room. She and his mothers smile when he pokes his head in, but shake theirs when he asks if they've seen him. He thanks them, closes the door, and turns to head down the hall, almost bumping straight into Mari.

“Looking for my brother?” Viktor nods. Hooking her arm through his, Mari leads him down the hall. “I have an idea,” she says.

Their trip through the palace is short, and Mari heads out of a side entrance Viktor rarely uses. This area of the grounds is generally open to the public during the summer, and by the end of this last summer Viktor had been training and had had little interest in exploration. They go down a winding, well-maintained path, walking in silence through the dusting of snow.

Before long, Viktor sees a much older building through the trees. Though only one story, it's tall and imposing, brightly-painted columns supporting a traditional curved roof. Mari guides him to the stairs, then stops, staring at the door.

“It's a shrine,” she says. “Our ancestors are buried here, and people come from all over the country to pay their respects to deceased monarchs.”

“You think Yuuri's here for your dad?”

She nods. “Maybe for more than our dad, but certainly for him.”

Guiding him in, Mari takes her shoes off, pointing at Yuuri's converse. He's definitely here. Viktor removes his own shoes, stepping with sock-clad feet onto the tatami mats. The building is simple, smooth wooden beams breaking up the space nicely, and the polished wood floor is almost seamless.

They reach a large room, full of light despite the few windows. Portraits line the walls near the ceiling, stretching around the perimeter of the room in two rows. Alone at the far end kneels Yuuri, prostrated before a shrine holding a picture of his late father with his head almost touching the floor. Quiet whispers float on the incensed air, melodic Japanese punctuated by soft breaths. Yuuri sits back on his heels, keeping his head bowed.

Mari gives him a few moments of silence before softly clearing her throat. Yuuri turns quickly— it's instantly clear that he's been crying— but he relaxes when he sees her.

“Mari-neechan. I was just… He made the speeches every year without fail and I…”

“It's alright,” she says, “you don't need to explain yourself. I've been missing him, too.”

Yuuri nods. “Is it lunch time?”

“Yeah, mom's making katsudon for everyone before the parade. Do you need a few minutes?”

Wiping his eyes, Yuuri shakes his head and stands up. Turning back to the shrine, he bows at the waist, his shoulders almost parallel with the floor as finishes paying his respects. He then shuffles across the room and takes Viktor's hand, letting Mari hold him for a moment before they leave for lunch.

 

Yuuri emerges from the dressing room in a military uniform, regal and stunningly austere. From his knee-high boots to the gold and emerald collar he wears, the golden sash and other medals on his chest and one, glimmering, on a green ribbon around his neck, Viktor takes him in. With the black uniform and green accents, it all looks incredible and Viktor finds it hard to breathe.

Brushing his black hat off with manicured hands bare of all but his engagement and signet rings, Yuuri doesn't notice Viktor moving forward until his fingertips are lifting his chin.

“Lyubov, you're stunning.”

Blushing, Yuuri looks down at his hands. “We thought for the parade I should… I mean, tonight I'll be in traditional stuff, with the Orders of course, but for the parade, you know… Military wear. It's. A thing. I mean, I technically lead the entirety of the armed forces and… Do you want me to pin your sash?”

Viktor gives him a kiss and nods. “Please. Should I wear your collar thing?”

“Yes, especially since it's domestic.” Yuuri moves to set his hat down. Tapping Viktor's arm, he signals for him to turn. “If you had a collar for the Order of Merit from Russia and we were at a State Dinner in Moscow or something, you would wear that collar and my sash since host country takes precedence.”

Nodding, Viktor feels Yuuri tug at his waistcoat to pin the sash.

“Arms back for your jacket,” Yuuri says.

Once the jacket's been shrugged on, Yuuri comes around the front. The collar glitters in Yuuri's hands as he raises it above Viktor's head, laying it on his shoulders and pinning it into place. The star-shaped medal and broach come next and Yuuri stands back, smiling at his handiwork.

“Where did you get so many?” Viktor asks. “Are they all Akitsushiman?”

“All of the ones I'm wearing are.” Pulling black leather gloves on, Yuuri looks in the mirror. “I have some that are foreign and were given to my father for me while I was gone.” He picks up the ceremonial sword he’d been given earlier, clipping it to the left side of his belt.

“Hat instead of a crown?”

Yuuri holds the hat up. Around the middle is a thin golden band of intricate metalwork, its shape reminiscent of an eight-pointed crown with the highest in the front. “This is still much lighter,” Yuuri says, “so there's that. We should head out, if you're ready.”

 

When they get to the back terrace to meet their carriage, Phichit is waiting to see them off along with their families. Viktor's family, along with Phichit, is still in casual clothes while Yuuri's is decked out for the parade. Phichit raises his eyebrows and whistles when they approach.

“You look fancy,” he says.

“Wait until you see my outfit tonight, the embroidery is ridiculous,” Yuuri responds. “Does your chut Thai need any ironing or anything?”

“Nah, it's hanging up, ready to go, with the sash you gave me. Really? Services to Akitsushima?” Phichit laughs. “For being your friend?”

“For keeping state secrets even through difficulty and helping ensure the safe return of the heir to the throne,” Yuuri answers, “so yes. Services to the Nation and the Crown.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri nods. “Will you guys be watching?”

“Yeah, I asked if they'd be willing to put it on in the media room,” Phichit answers. “We'll have snacks, too.”

“Of course you will.”

“Your Majesty,” Hana says, walking up in her guard uniform, “we're about ready.”

“Are you going with us?” Rie asks.

Hana bows at the neck and nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“She has the same badge thing I do,” Phichit says. Hana touches the medal around her neck, one of several she's wearing.

Yuuri looks at him. “Well, I mean. Fifteen years guarding me, of course I gave her commendations. You watched the ceremony, I know you did, because you texted me screenshots of weird faces you paused on, mine and Hana's included.”

“Yeah but I didn't expect to get the same it's… I don't know, I never really thought about what all would happen when you came back, and it just… I was just trying to be a good friend, you know?”

Smiling, Yuuri hugs him. “I could have lost everything without you.”

Phichit hugs him in return, before pushing him back and resting both hands on his shoulders. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” Yuuri says.

“Your Majesty,” Mari says, “we need to go, the parade is supposed to start in like five minutes.”

Yuuri nods. “Of course. Okay. Phichit, you know the way to the media room?”

“Yeah, we'll be fine. Go on, we'll see you later.”

Nodding, Yuuri puts his hat on and tugs at his jacket, straightening further. As he turns towards the carriages, the guards snap to attention. Somehow, Viktor's discomfort is minimal, and Yuuri looks fine as does his family. Hiroko, Viktor, and Mari follow closely behind, and the rest of the Royal Family walk behind them.

The first of the two carriages is more ornate but both are open to the air and designed to render their passengers highly visible. Yuuri climbs into the very front, Viktor next to him, and Hiroko and Mari sit in the seats behind. Isamu and his family take the second carriage.

Hana mounts the horse she'll be riding, moving alongside Yuuri with the rest of the King's Guard. She's a member for now, though she's slated to move from actively guarding Yuuri to helping coordinate his travel at the end of the year. After her years of non-stop service, Viktor can see why she'd want a desk job.

The driver flicks the reins and the horses move, pulling the carriage after them.

 

By no means is this the first parade Viktor's been in; Yekaterinburg prides itself on being his hometown and has celebrated his achievements regularly. Russia itself has celebrated him and his fellow athletes after a successful run at the Olympics, but never has he seen a celebration like this. As they pull out of the gates he smiles along with Yuuri, people crowding the streets until they're packed.

The winter sun shines overhead as they make their way through the capitol. Holding onto a bar at the front of the carriage as he stands, Yuuri smiles and waves at his people, taking in the written and shouted birthday wishes as they move along the parade route. Many shops have banners up as well, most in Japanese, but even Viktor can read most of the birthday messages. He also greets people, waves on occasion, and can't help but share Yuuri's joy, echoing his grin.

“There are so many people,” Yuuri says.

Viktor looks at him. “They're celebrating with you. Mari said you were well-loved.”

Maintaining his impeccably regal wave, Yuuri hums. “It's one thing to hear, another to see on TV and yet another to see it in person. I didn't expect this sort of turnout.”

“You didn't? Not even a little bit?”

Yuuri sighs but doesn't drop his smile. “I guess I kind of did. I don't know. It's… Birthdays have always felt kind of disconnected for me, especially in relation to Akitsushima as a whole.”

Humming, Viktor pushes his leg against Yuuri's. The response is a contented sigh and a gentle push back as Yuuri resumes the royal wave. It's clearly practiced, especially after the months he's been home, but he manages to infuse it with genuine enthusiasm and joy. Despite the initial discomfort, Yuuri enjoys the parade, enjoys seeing his people and celebrating with them and the enthusiastic young Prince from the videos Viktor's seen shines through.

~*~

Yuuri is dressed this time in the traditional wear of the Akitsushiman court in jewel tones, rich deep green and purple offset by navy blue. The embroidery matches the colors, shiny metallic thread swirling gracefully across the thick matte fabric. With a gleaming crown on his head and the various Orders he's wearing, he glimmers in the lights of their bedroom.

Adjusting his bowtie in the mirror, Viktor looks over the tux he's wearing one last time, making sure the decorations on his chest lay flat, and when he looks up, Yuuri's smiling at him.

“What is it?”

“I'm just happy,” Yuuri says. “I… I’m here and you’re here and Phichit is here and- and I’m _home._ I’m home this year.”

Pulling his fiancé close, Viktor presses a kiss to his temple. “You're home,” he says. Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor, settling his cheek on Viktor’s shoulder as he takes a few deep breaths. “How are you feeling?”

Yuuri shrugs against him. “Excited. Anxious. Kind of sad. I'm glad to be home but I just wish my Dad were here too, you know?”

Rubbing circles on Yuuri's back, Viktor nods. “I'm sure he'd have wanted you to enjoy tonight.”

“He would,” Yuuri laughs. “He loved celebrations, he did his best to enjoy himself whenever he could, if it was appropriate. He wasn't as stuffy as he looks in the pictures and all, I think even _I'm_ a bit worse sometimes.”

Viktor pulls back just enough to smile with Yuuri, to press kisses to his forehead and cheeks as he draws Yuuri closer at the waist. “Let's enjoy tonight and come back, shower, and I'll give you a massage before bed.”

Rocking forward, Yuuri kisses the tip of Viktor's nose. “That sounds amazing.”

At that point, Yuuri's stomach makes its displeasure known, and rather loudly if Viktor has anything to say about it. With a groan, Yuuri rests his head on Viktor's shoulder.

“I'm a bit hungry,” he mutters.

“I can tell,” Viktor says, smiling as he presses another kiss to Yuuri's forehead. “Let's go.”

Pulling away has Viktor feeling a tug on his jacket and they look down to see the chains and medals on their chests caught on each other.

“Shit,” Yuuri says, chuckling as he assesses the situation. He starts fiddling with Viktor's collar. Delicate in their work, his fingers get them disentangled soon enough and when he gives Viktor another kiss, they make sure to take care not to get stuck again.

 

They stop by Mari's room, first, and since they'd been told to just go in that's what they do. They're met with the sight of leather cases on Mari's table and Mari, smiling, putting a small kokoshnik tiara on Katya's head. Blue sapphires inlaid in silver complement her periwinkle blue satin gown. Katya is beaming as Mari adjusts her hair to lay properly, arranging it to cover the strap holding the tiara secure.

“Go look in the mirror,” she whispers.

Katya runs off to the bedroom. Looking over, Mari nods at them. “I thought she'd like to wear one,” she says. “My mom is already loaning your moms some jewelry so I figured I'd do the same.”

Viktor knows for a fact that his mothers both have their own jewelry and when he frowns, he feels a touch on his hand.

“It's not an insult,” Yuuri clarifies. “Many of the jewels we have are widely recognized as being _ours._ My mom lending yours stuff, especially from her private collection, is less about your moms and more about a demonstration of how close they are. No one will think our families are distant or just putting up with each other.”

“Tiaras aren't just for your family?”

“They aren't just for _royalty,_ no, but any and all we have are in the Royal Trust. There are some restricted to royals, for sure, but if Mari is letting her wear it, it's fine.” Viktor nods. Rocking on his tiptoes, Yuuri kisses his cheek. “You know we consider your family ours, right?”

“I…”

“We do,” Yuuri says. “Mari?”

“Yup, and I may steal Katya for good measure.”

Giggling, Katya enters the room. “Vitya, look!” She twirls, the skirts of her dress swirling around her as she does.

“Stunning, Pupsik,” he says. “You look very beautiful, are you happy with everything?”

She nods. Viktor offers his arm to his little sister and she takes it, smiling up at him as they go to meet their families.

 

They approach the sitting room everyone’s meeting in. The footmen outside are already standing at attention, and one moves to open the door, stepping into the room.

“His Majesty the King and Mr. Viktor Nikiforov,” he says. Everyone stands, Hana and Viktor’s family as well. He’s not surprised; Minako had drilled everyone in the room on forms of address during their practice the day before. Rather than the gruelling practices Viktor and Yuuri’d had before his Coronation Ball, this was merely to get Viktor’s family and Phichit used to the entrances and exits they’ll be making.

Yuuri gestures for everyone to sit and most people do. Katya makes her way over to Rie, sitting next to her on the divan near the window. Immediately, they’re absorbed in conversation, whispering between each other while they wait for everything to begin.

“You look nice,” Hilaire says, taking in Viktor's accolades.

“You as well,” he replies. She's dressed in a fitted tuxedo, including a tailcoat and four-inch heels. Viktor stares at the shoes. “Maman, I thought you said heels that tall are just asking for a broken—”

“Hush, Vitka,” Alexandra says as she smoothes her long purple gown, “your mother likes feeling tall. Let her have this.”

Alexei snorts nearby and Hilaire shoots him a withering look before leaning away from her wife.

“You said you liked them,” she gripes.

“I _do_ like them, love.”

Suspicious, Hilaire gives her wife an exaggerated look before shifting closer again and settling under her arm.

The door opens and a footman steps in. “Katsuki Hana-san,” he says as Hana walks in, stopping to bow in the Royal Family's direction. Wearing the dress uniform of the King’s Guard, decked out in her Orders and commendations, she’s somehow both intimidating and gorgeous. It hadn't come as a surprise to anyone when she'd changed her last name. Beyond its public association with backstabbing and treason, the personal nature of her mother's betrayal has caused a sort of revulsion in her that had only grown over time. Where “Kataoka” had started to feel like a cage, “Katsuki” had felt like home, she’d told Viktor when he’d asked. Though it had only been an alias, she’d shared it with Yuuri and it had grown to be something special to her— and for both of them had been a symbolic marker of her becoming a part of Yuuri's family.

The way Mari goes to hug her speaks volumes and Viktor can read the closeness of their still-growing relationship in the smiles on their faces, the way Hana makes a comment and causes Mari to laugh. It's a marked improvement from the near-hostility with which Hana'd been met on her arrival.

Standing, Yuuri gestures for everyone to stay seated as he walks over to Hana, wrapping his arms around her as he avoids messing with the sash she’s wearing. Instead of the same Order Viktor shares with Mari, Isamu, and Phichit, the badge for which is pinned to her bodice, the sash represents a military Order of Merit of the highest class. She’d cried when she’d received the honor. Yuuri had said it wasn’t enough. Kissing his face, Hana whispers something in his ear with a smile. He pulls back, a mock-scowl on his face, and sticks his tongue out.

It isn’t long before they’re told the guests are ready. The entire group files over to the parlor next to the largest formal dining room, being announced in groups as they enter. Viktor and Yuuri wait behind. They’ll be the last to make their entrance, especially since as Birthday Boy, Yuuri’d be the Guest of Honor even if he wasn’t King. Sighing, Yuuri adjusts Viktor’s lapels, fiddles with his medals to make them lay flat. It goes from basic grooming to an outlet for nervous energy and Viktor reaches up, catching his hands.

“Velichestvo, we’ll be okay.”

“Of course,” he whispers. “We’ll be fine.”

Stepping forward, Viktor pulls Yuuri’s chin up so their eyes meet. “Yuuri,” he murmurs, “it’s your _birthday._ Not a State Dinner. Many of the people here have known you since you were a child, and all of them are expecting you to want to have some fun.” He repeats Minako’s words from their rehearsal in a soothing tone, cupping Yuuri’s cheek with his bare hand. “It’ll be alright.”

“Your family, though, since we’re at the party with the bowing and—”

“They knew what this was going to entail well beforehand. If it wasn’t something they were willing to do, they wouldn’t be here right now. They understand court has different rules and they know you aren’t making them do all of this for fun or because you see them as less. It isn’t an issue at all. Deep breath.”

Complying, Yuuri takes a moment to settle himself, taking a few more breaths for good measure. It’s just in time; one of the attendants approaches. “Sire, Mr. Nikiforov, we’re ready to announce you.”

Straightening, Yuuri lets the last bits of his private persona slip back into hiding, embodying his position as he nods. “Very well.” He offers his arm to Viktor.

His hand is barely settled on the back of Yuuri’s before the doors before them are opened and a footman announces them.

“His Royal Majesty The King and his Fiancé, Mr. Viktor Alexandrovich Nikiforov, Hero of the Russian Federation.”

They step forward in unison, standing for a moment at the top of the small flight of stairs. It had entirely slipped Viktor’s mind that the commendations he got in Russia meant a fancy title added to his name as far as court is concerned. Together, they descend into the crowd, all standing at attention. As they approach the bottom of the stairs the entire room bows almost in unison, Viktor’s family included (though as the family of the future King-Consort, theirs is much shallower). Calm, regal, they make their way across the room to where their families stand together.

Greetings finished, they mingle until the start of dinner. As opposed to the last event of this sort, this one’s not nearly as nerve-wracking. Viktor’s place on Yuuri’s arm is secured, the twin bands on their fingers declaring their engagement loud and clear. Each person they greet glances at the bands as they lower their heads, congratulates them after wishing Yuuri well. Takeda isn’t here, naturally. Nor is Yoshida or either of their families. The absence of threat offers some much-needed breathing room. Viktor doesn’t feel the same tension he had before, he’s not on tenterhooks waiting for an unknown _something_ to happen and he can tell Yuuri, too, is far more relaxed.

The procession into the dining room is much the same as last time, though instead of a raised table on a dais they’re going to the far end of a U-shaped arrangement. Yuuri sits at the head, his chair taller and more imposing than any of the others. With the engagement being public Viktor sits next to him, at his left hand. Mari sits to his right, Hiroko on the other side of her, and the rest of their families, Minako, and Hana are arranged around them. Rie and Katya are, again, sitting together, but the fond smile on Yuuri’s face says he’s happy his little cousin and future little sister-in-law are getting along so well. Once the entire room is seated, dinner begins.

“This is nice,” Yuuri says halfway through the main course.

“What is, Velichestvo?”

“Sitting with you.” Taking another bite, Yuuri glances around the room. “I like being able to be open about us, you know?”

“I do.” Viktor smiles at his fiancé.

Radiant in the gentle lighting, Yuuri smiles back. “Are you enjoying yourself? How are you doing so far?”

“It’s easier.” That’s not to say it’s easy, no, but by and far Viktor’s feeling much more comfortable in his skin now. It could be the extra months he’d spent here before he’d left. The lack of threat is certainly contributing. Strangely, he feels like he’s starting to really settle into this life, moreso than before. He suspects he'll never quite be as at ease as Yuuri when it comes to having so many people deferring to him, despite his efforts, but even now the discomfort is a mere hum in the background where it had been an overwhelming roar.

The familiar press of Yuuri's leg pulls him from his thoughts. Pushing back, Viktor takes a sip of his wine and looks around the room. Alexei and Mari chat with Hana at the other end of the table, occasionally saying something to the twins. Guests around the room sneak looks at the table, often directly at Alexei. Not counting accidental press encounters, it's one of the few public appearances they've made together and the only one that doesn't have something to do with Viktor's career. He can see why people would be so curious about the near carbon-copy of him chatting amicably with the Crown Princess.

It's hard to tell if Alexei notices, caught up in conversation as he is, and Viktor wonders if he dislikes it more than he lets on.

 

Once the last course has been whisked away, Isamu stands, calling the room's attention to himself.

“In honor of this momentous occasion, the twenty-fourth birthday of my dear nephew, I'd like first to propose a toast to his health and continued well-being.” Holding up his glass, he waits a moment while the entire room follows suit. Turning to Yuuri, he smiles.

“I can't tell you how much it gladdens me to have been able to share this birthday with you, Your Majesty.”

Graciously, Yuuri smiles and nods at his uncle. Isamu continues with a carefully prepared speech, focusing on how Yuuri's grown as a person, how proud his father would be of the man Yuuri's become. There are a few personal anecdotes, but he keeps it short. It's apparent why, as after his speech comes several more rounds of toasts, everyone raising their glass with enthusiasm.

Over time, Yuuri's cheeks grow redder, his thumb rubbing the palm of the other hand with vigor. Mari's turn comes around and, being aware of Yuuri's discomfort, she keeps it brief as well. Hiroko only reiterates how proud Yuuri's father and grandfather would be, how proud _she_ is and how happy everyone is to be able to celebrate this year.

Last to speak is Hana. The entire room listens with interest, but she doesn’t give more than a general statement about watching him grow. No stories, not from his time in hiding, and Viktor knows he’s grateful she asked ahead of time what he was comfortable with. Once she finishes, the entire room stands, lifts their glasses once more to Yuuri, and, once he’s taken a sip of his own wine, follows suit.

 

They file out in the same order they came in. Like the last banquet, there's a waiting period in a nearby sitting room. Water is brought and Yuuri settles back in the plush cushions of the couch they're on, sipping his as he tries to settle himself. After the day's activities it's clear he's tired and wants time away from people, but there's still the ball to go to and there will be far more guests there. Far more personal interaction as well, with the dances and a few speeches they've been told to expect.

Taking Yuuri's hand, he rubs the back with his thumb.

Katya chatters away on a nearby armchair. It's clear she's having fun and enjoyed the dinner, and as she gestures widely Rie smiles.

“She finds Katya fun,” Yuuri says quietly. “Katya doesn't have the same nerves around Rie and has interesting stories, apparently.”

“I'm surprised your cousin isn't put off by her.”

“Oba-san says Rie's been learning more about not being _quite_ so judgy.”

Viktor hums in agreement. Phichit and Alexei get back from the bathroom, accompanied by Mari and Kiyomi, freshly changed into ball gowns for the dance.

“Majesty,” Phichit says, flopping down next to Yuuri, “how long is the ball supposed to last?”

Yuuri shrugs. “A few hours. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I mean it could conceivably be shorter or longer, but it’s unlikely.”

Phichit nods. “Have your parties always been like this?”

“Nah,” Yuuri says, looking at him. “When I was a kid they were earlier in the day and more kid-oriented. When I was five my parents had Akitsushima’s Royal National Theatre Company come put on a production. They brought the sets and everything, took over one of the dining rooms and did a show based on Akitsushiman mythology.”

“Your parents rented a theatre company?”

“Mhmm.”

Sitting back, Phichit hums thoughtfully. He’s unusually quiet after that, watching as Yuuri answers Alexei’s questions about a figurine nearby that apparently dates back to the 800’s and was given to one of his predecessors.

The break between events this time is a bit longer than the last. Everyone sips the water they’d been brought, those who need to use the restroom or change do so. Alexei chats with the twins, gesturing widely. Probably talking about a dig or something of the sort. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, though with an excited undercurrent, and Viktor’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited, too.

All too soon, yet not soon enough, a staff member comes to get everyone paired off just right. With the needed emphasis on how close their families are and how close everyone is to Yuuri, a lot more goes into things than just lining everyone up. Viktor will walk in last with Yuuri, of course, since they’re going straight from the entrance into the first dance of the evening, but everyone else will merely be watching. They factor in order of precedence; Hiroko will be announced first as the Queen Mother, Mari after her as the Crown Princess, with Isamu following before everyone else, and then age; Kiyomi and Kaoru will enter before Rie, and it’s all very convoluted. More goes into it than Viktor’d previously thought and he’s frankly glad it’s not his job to figure out how not to inadvertently insult anyone.

In the hallway outside the main doors they stand, waiting the last few moments before the ball officially begins. Viktor feels a tug on his tailcoat, looking down to see Katya.

“What is it, Pupsik?” he asks, lowering himself to her level.

“What if I mess up?”

“Do your best,” he says, “but if you mess up it’s okay. No one here’s going to be mad and we’re not going to let you get in trouble for a mistake.”

She nods. Kiyomi, just behind them, taps her shoulder to get her attention. “Stay with me or one of my siblings if you want,” she says. “We can help you know what to do. And Viktor knows, and my cousin knows, and Hana-san and all of our parents will be more than happy to help”

Brightening, Katya nods again. Viktor pulls her gently to look at him. “Remember there are going to be photographers there, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And if you want to leave, you just find one of us and we’ll help, you don’t have to stay one minute longer than you want to, even if it’s not done.”

“Yuuri’s not going to be mad?”

Kiyomi looks at Viktor, then back at her. “Of course Yuuri-sama’s not going to be mad,” she says. “He doesn’t want anyone to do something they don’t want to just to make him happy.”

“Pupsik, this is the party for the public. We had the family party earlier when we ate and gave him presents and such, he’s not going to be sad if you don’t want to stay here.”

“If we’re really honest, _I_ don’t want to be here.” Yuuri’s whisper causes all three of them to jump, turning around. He’s smiling as he looks at them. “I mean, I’m looking forward to dancing, but I kind of can’t wait to get back to my rooms.”

It brings a relieved smile to Katya’s face, and she wraps her arms around him. After a moment, Yuuri returns the unexpected hug, smiling. “You’re gonna be fine, yeah?”

Nodding again, Katya lets him go as an attendant lets everyone know it’s time to make their entrances. In pairs or triples, they file through the doors to the waiting crowd. It’s in the same ballroom as the last, the extensive guest list requiring as much room as the Palace can afford, and Viktor readies himself for the walk in. By now, he knows the stairs well, is used to the room enough that it doesn’t pull his attention entirely. It doesn’t ease his nerves entirely, but making the right entrance is no longer a daunting prospect.

He and Yuuri share a moment in the brief time they have alone. Yuuri presses a kiss to his lips, Viktor rubs his back soothingly, and by the time they’re asked to be ready, Yuuri’s breathing is calmer than it was.

They walk into a glittering vision. Conversation stops and the entire room turns to face them as they’re announced. Yuuri, tall and proud and impressively regal smiles as they pause at the top of the stairs. It’s small but confident, and Viktor makes sure his smile mirrors Yuuri’s excitement. The procession down the stairs seems faster than it had at the last party, though it’s unlikely it was at all. Guests bow as they pass, a sea of exquisite gowns and medals and tiaras all lowering their heads in a display of deference to their sovereign.

The dance they share is thrilling. Yuuri leads this time, more confident in his skills and position and it’s a _dream._ In tandem, they move across the floor in dizzying circles, lights and people a blur around them while all Viktor sees is his fiancé’s smile. Radiant, Yuuri doesn't let his eyes leave Viktor's, even as the dance ends and they stand, breathing hard with the exertion but in high enough spirits that it's barely noticeable.

It's the start of an amazing night. Yuuri makes sure to dance with members of his family, with each of Viktor's moms and even Phichit, and when he dances with Katya, her laughter fills the air. Though she has no formal ballroom training, Yuuri's a magnificent instructor and an even better lead. The dance they do is lively, if unorthodox, but Katya clearly enjoys it.

In turn, Viktor dances first with his future mother-in-law, then Mari and Hana and even Kiyomi and Rie before he's pulled into dances with other guests. Some partners press for details about his new life, others make small talk. One or two, older nobles who'd known Yuuri when he was young, tell stories. Nothing that could cause Yuuri to be seen in a negative light, of course, and Viktor can tell there's emphasis on Yuuri's better qualities, but they don't seem entirely insincere.

He's chatting with some Akitsushiman celebrity when Kaoru finds him.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” the young Prince says, “but I require my older cousin.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” they say with a small bow.

A pointed look tells Viktor it's him to whom Kaoru is referring and Viktor nods. He transfers his champagne to his left hand, shakes the celebrity's with his right, and turns to walk away with Kaoru.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks.

“No,” he says, “but the photographers want more pictures of everyone together. My dad wants me to tell you not to stick right near my cousin. Talk to myself, my mom, and my sisters, some, too. We're supposed to make it look natural.”

“Of course.” Viktor finishes the champagne he's holding and switches it out for a new flute. Twice, they're stopped by someone wanting a photo with Viktor. He obliges gracefully, giving a dazzling smile as he first poses with them, then shakes their hands. Eventually they reach everyone else, and the performative socialization begins.

At first it's slightly awkward but Viktor eases into it well enough. Everyone mingles, a few guests are introduced, and Viktor plays his part to perfection. Phichit and Yuuri spend some time standing together, chatting, and they’re soon joined by Kiyomi and Alexei. Eventually, Yuuri gravitates over to Viktor and they greet people as a pair. It's after this Yuuri takes him on a circuit around the room.

Sipping sweet, warm rice wine from glass cups in silver holders they meander through the crowd. Endlessly polite, Yuuri greets each guest. Some, he recognizes. Others, he lets introduce themselves. No one seems insulted by this, and it seems many are happy merely to be addressed by Yuuri.

 

“Your Majesty!” Phichit slips through a few people, intercepting Viktor and Yuuri as they walk around the edge of the room.

Yuuri turns, smiling. “What is it?”

“Minako asked me to tell you that closing statements will be soon. She wants you both to meet her near the dais.”

“Okay.” Yuuri steers them in the direction indicated, chatting with Phichit as they walk. The rest of their families are assembling nearby. Katya, sleepy, rubs her eyes as she listens to what Rie and Mari are saying. Alexei keeps his hand on her back, a steady, reassuring presence to help her through the last few minutes of the event.

Yuuri takes to the dais a minute later, Viktor standing just behind him and to the side. Mari and Hiroko stand next to Viktor, the three of them a united front behind Yuuri. By the time they're assembled, the room is near-silent, all eyes turned to the dais. Smiling, Yuuri steps forward.

“I would like to express my most sincere gratitude to each and every person in this room for making my first birthday at home one to remember.” He does a deep nod— the closest to bowing to a living person as he’s ever going to get— before continuing.

“From the staff, who have worked to make this celebration what it is, to Mr. Chulanont and the Nikiforova family, who flew out in order to spend the day with me, and my family, fiancé, and Okukawa Minako-san, all of whom took great care in ensuring today was as stress-free as possible, and to all of you, here to celebrate, this day couldn't have been this good without you. Though I sincerely regret being unable to spend today with my late father, I know that he would have enjoyed the festivities as well. We all know how he enjoyed taking some time to let loose.”

A chuckle rolls through the crowd, those assembled nodding at each other with smiles. From what Viktor knows, Yuuri's father enjoyed his fun, moreso with family, and he dearly loved his children. This would have been something he enjoyed.

“I would also like to thank Katsuki Hana-san,” he says as he smiles at his adopted sister. “Through my years in hiding, she always made an effort to make my birthdays good, even though I missed my family terribly. She made sure I watched my father's speeches, she made sure I took time to celebrate, and she took care of me, keeping me safe until such a time as I was able to return home. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that without her, this wouldn't have been possible.”

Blushing, Hana gives a slight bow, first to Yuuri and then the crowd. Yuuri moves on with some anecdote or another, hands moving gracefully through the air with his gestures, toned down though they are from his usual enthusiasm. He looks happy. Despite the sadness in his expression each time he mentions his dad, it's clear that he's enjoyed the day, enjoyed having his family, and some part of him, small though it may be, enjoyed the party. His gratitude is earnest, and as he thanks his guests one last time, the room erupts into applause.

He offers his arm to Hana, this time, and she takes it happily as they make their exit.

 

The residential area of the palace offers relief, the entirety of their party visibly relaxing. The first to leave is Minako, citing an early-morning appointment. She hugs Yuuri, wishes him a happy birthday one last time, and tears up a bit after he says a few quiet words to her. When she hugs Hiroko, the Queen smiles, clasping her hands around one of Minako's and thanking her again for taking care of Yuuri.

“Of course,” Minako says. “I would never let anyone hurt him.” She says her goodbyes to Hana, and leaves.

Isamu approaches his nephew, smiling. “Yuuri-sama—”

Yuuri cuts him off with a wave. “Oji-san, Oba-san, I think, in private, ‘Yuuri' is perfectly fine. Same goes for you guys,” he says to his cousins. “You can just call me by name.”

“But you're _old,”_ Rie blurts before blushing.

Bursting into laughter, Yuuri takes a moment before smiling at her. “I may be old, but I'm not _stuffy._ We're cousins, Rie-chan. We can act like it.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Of course.” Yuuri nods, opening his arms and embracing her.

Isamu and Emi eventually gather their children after giving them a few minutes to talk to their older cousin, gesturing at the clock on the mantle when Rie protests.

“It’s almost midnight,” Emi says, “now say good-night to Yuuri-sa— Say good night to Yuuri and Mari and Hiroko-san, and we’ll be going to bed. You’ll see them again tomorrow.”

Dutifully, her children comply, hugging their cousins and aunt before stepping aside as Isamu and Emi say their goodnights. Hiroko kisses Yuuri and Viktor and leaves with them, wanting to discuss something with Yuuri’s aunt.

Mari vanishes somewhere with Alexei, and Viktor’s moms say goodnight. Katya yawns as she waves, clearly barely still on her feet, and Viktor kisses her forehead before shooing her towards their moms. He, Phichit, and Yuuri head down the hall, a much smaller group than had stopped to begin with.

 

They’re almost back to their rooms when Phichit sighs heavily and looks at his best friend.

“Yuuri?” Quiet, he’s almost hesitant, and Yuuri looks over with his brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, Phichit looks intently at a nearby vase. “This… this party was amazing. Really. It was like something out of a story book.”

Yuuri glances around and nods. “I’m home,” he offers as an explanation.

Phichit shakes his head. “I… I know, and I know it’s expected and everything I just… _We’ve_ only ever celebrated with a cake and some video games or movies or something, and I just made my mom’s _panang_ if we didn’t order takeout.”

Yuuri looks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Phichit is something wrong? Were you uncomfortable?”

“It’s not that.” Phichit runs his fingers through his hair before he crosses his arms and looks at Yuuri. “It’s… this is what you were used to.”

“Until I was eight, yeah.”

“We never celebrated like this.”

“No, and I didn’t expect us to.”

“Did you _enjoy_ it, though?” Phichit’s voice is somehow smaller than Viktor’s ever heard it. The confident, media-savvy competitor Viktor knew has been replaced by a shy kid, complete with toeing at the carpet.

“Phichit,” Yuuri says, “I did. I promise. I got to spend my birthdays with my _best friend._ We made them _fun._ It’s… This is part of being home, yeah, but it’s not the only kind of celebration I’ll enjoy. If we’re being honest, I _prefer_ smaller celebrations.”

“We picked up a ten-dollar cake from a grocery store and chilled at home like, every year.”

Sighing, Yuuri turns fully towards his friend. “Phichit, I… it’s not about the money. It’s not about how much pomp and circumstance there is. I like spending my birthdays with the people I love, and you’d let Hana in to make her waffles in the morning, and you bought me a cup of coffee if we went out, then you’d _cook_ for me and…” Yuuri moves forward, pulling Phichit into his arms and hugging him tightly. “Phichit, I enjoyed birthdays with you in Detroit just as much as I’ve enjoyed today. The only real difference is I actually got to see my family this year. Trust me, I loved them and I still cherish the memories.”

Taking a half step back, Phichit looks up at him. “Yeah?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah! And I didn’t… I mean, except for last year I could be open, you know? I didn’t have to hide who I was while I was celebrating. Phichit, I really, genuinely liked the birthdays I had with you.”

After a moment of standing, looking over Yuuri’s face for any sign of dishonesty, Phichit nods. “Yeah. Okay. I’m glad. Not like I thought you were lying I just…”

Hugging him again, Yuuri whispers, perhaps more loudly than he intends, “I don’t mind reassuring, you know this.”

Nodding, Phichit pulls away before whipping out his phone. “One last selfie in our fancy clothing?” He holds up his phone, wiggling it side-to-side with a grin.

Sharing his enthusiasm, Yuuri nods. “I know a sitting room that would be _perfect.”_

 

Three minutes into the promised massage and Viktor's rubbing his hand with a grimace. Twisting to look back, Yuuri seems concerned. “Vitya? If it hurts you don't have to finish,” he says. “I'd rather not have the massage if your wrist is that bad.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you.” Pouting, Viktor sits back. As he's straddling Yuuri, it means he ends up sitting square on Yuuri's pajama-clad ass.

“You've done plenty of nice things,” Yuuri says.

There's enough excess lotion on his hands that it seems a shame to let it go to waste, so Viktor starts rubbing it gently into Yuuri's back.

Yuuri twists further. “Vityusha, you don't have to.”

“It's fine if I don't put pressure on it.” It isn't entirely, it still aches some, but as gentle as he's being the pain isn't increasing at all. Relenting, Yuuri lays back down, resting his head on his arms as he sighs happily.

“Promise you'll stop if it's too much?”

“I promise, Yuuri.”

Viktor's moved further up to rub Yuuri’s shoulders the next time Yuuri speaks.

“I mean it, you know. This… this birthday _was_ amazing and… you were a huge part of that. Thank you.”

Leaning forward, Viktor presses a kiss to the back of Yuuri's neck. “Of course, Lyubov moya.” Swinging his leg to the side, he moves away.

“Hand me my thermal?” Yuuri gestures at the shirt as he sits back on his heels.

Holding it out, Viktor lets his eyes trace Yuuri's body, from the softness of his stomach to the jagged scars, still pink. They're soon hidden under his shirt. Combing his still-damp hair back with his fingers, Yuuri looks at the fire, smiling when he sees the dogs curled up together. Reaching back, he asks for his phone.

It takes three tries for him to get a picture he's happy with, and after they've crawled under the covers he pulls up Instagram.

“Where are you sending that?” Viktor asks.

“The official one.” He holds up his phone to let Viktor read the caption.

**hrm_yuuri_aki: #makkachin and #princessseaweed resting after an incredible birthday celebration. Thanks again to  @v-nikiforov and @phichit+chu, my family and guests, and the people of Akitsushima and the world for celebrating with me. (at Hasetsu Royal Palace)**

“You're welcome,” Viktor laughs.

Yuuri sticks out his tongue as he drafts the post.

“I still can't believe they're calling Nori ‘Princess Seaweed’.”

Rolling on his side, Yuuri shrugs, blushing. “She looks like seaweed when she's wet. Hence, ‘Nori'. I guess people found it amusing enough to make it a thing.”

“Seaweed the dog and Grey the elephant.”

“I thought you _liked_ Muzumi-chan's name.”

“Well, it _sounds_ nice. But at the same time, it's a terrible—”

“Oh, shut it,” Yuuri gripes, before blanching. “I- That wasn't an order, I just—”

Viktor kisses him. Tender, loving, it's reassurance in itself that Viktor didn't take it the wrong way to begin with and Yuuri pulls closer as he yawns. Yawning as well, Viktor snuggles in happily, entwining their legs as he slips into a much-needed slumber.

 

~*~

 

The next day Viktor devotes to his family. They'll be leaving the afternoon after, so he makes it a point to take them to the rink for hockey. It's closed to the public as is customary when he's there, so they have the entire space to do with what they will. Once they’ve got their skates on and are on the ice, Katya gives Viktor a thorough, if rambling, explanation of the game.

Entirely out of practice, it takes Viktor a few minutes to get used to skating with the stick in his hands. Katya skates a circle around him. Giggling, she watches him mess with the puck, get a feel for the stick again, and then with a smirk, Viktor takes off. Maneuvering easily around her, he manages to steer the puck just as well, skating to the opposite goal before smacking his stick against the ice and sending the puck careening towards the net.

His little display would have worked a lot better had he actually made it. Laughing almost uncontrollably, Katya skates over, wrapping her arms around him. “That was a good try, Vitka!” He holds her for a moment, then lets her teach him how to aim.

After half an hour she's satisfied he knows the rules and they break for water before starting an impromptu game with their mothers. They lose track of the score somewhere around six points in, eventually dissolving into a game of keep-away at which Katya excels.

 

Leaning against the boards, Viktor does his best to breathe properly around the sharp pain in his side. The stress of exercise combined badly with an abrupt twist to avoid colliding with his mamulya, meaning what should have been an easy direction change had wrenched his chest muscles in just the wrong way.

“Vitya?” Katya's standing next to him, now, looking up with wide eyes.

“What is it, Pupsik?” Voice strained, it's hard to keep the pain from showing, but he does his best.

“You alright?”

He looks at her. As an athlete, she's going to end up in similar situations and ought to know how to cope, some. “My chest hurts,” he says, “so I'm going to need to stop for today.”

“I thought you were gonna show me a jump.”

The thought of denying her is painful in and of itself, but Viktor closes his eyes. “I can’t today. My ribs hurt already and I don’t want to hurt them again, I’m sorry.”

Softly, she sighs, but nods.

“Try having Maman show you some,” he suggests. “She knows a few singles.”

“But you can do the _fancy_ ones,” she replies. “I’ve seen Maman do her jumps before.”

“Pupsik, if you’re gonna play sports you need to remember about how to recover from injuries.”

“I know how,” she says.

“Then you know rest is important, yes?” Katya nods again, clearly disappointed. Viktor pulls her to his side. “I promise I will in the future, okay? Next time we can skate together, if my ribs aren’t giving me trouble I’ll show you.”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

“Will you teach me some?”

Viktor looks down at the hockey skates on her feet. “I’m going to have to get you figure skates for that, Pupsik, you need a toe pick.” His sister frowns. “The spiky thing I have on the front of my blade,” Viktor clarifies. “For some jumps, you need to kick the ice with it to help.”

She seems to understand after that. Getting one more promise to teach her out of him, she skates back to their family, and Viktor has Yulian help him off the ice.

 

In a small, upstairs dining room they have their last dinner in Hasetsu. Katya is chatting with Rie after dessert, both of them curled up in front of the fire with hot chocolate, smiling as they whisper together.

“Where’s my sister?” Yuuri asks as he pulls his chair out next to Viktor, sitting down.

“Outside on the balcony with my brother,” Viktor answers. “They’re having a cigarette.”

Nodding, Yuuri leans over, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s shoulder.

Phichit’s phone is shoved in their faces. “Yuuri, remember this?”

Onscreen is a picture of Yuuri, dressed nicely but drenched from head to toe, holding an equally-wet and highly unamused cat as he wades through the shallows of a river.

“I do,” Yuuri says as he pushes the phone aside. “She fell off the bridge and was stuck on that pylon, I wasn’t going to just _leave_ her there.”

Now smug, Phichit looks back at Yuuri’s cousins. “I told you he rescued her.”

“That’s so _cool,”_ Kiyomi says. “What other adventures did you guys have?”

“Oh, lemme tell you about Thailand,” Phichit says, launching into the story about the ruined costume.

Leaning back, Yuuri smiles.

“Is he coming with us tomorrow morning?” Viktor asks. “Are we stopping in Bangkok?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Nah, he’s staying out here a bit more. I wanna show him the city, hang out some. We’ll be going to the Ninja Castle after we see you off tomorrow.”

“That sounds fun.” Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, Viktor smiles. It’s good to see Yuuri taking some time for himself, especially since the investigations are in the later stages.

With a contented sigh, Yuuri nods. “I’m looking forward to it.” He sounds excited, and Viktor’s excited for him. It’s going to be hard leaving again, for sure, and part of Viktor wishes it was him who was staying with Yuuri, but he has training to get back to, and Yuuri deserves this. Having lived with Phichit for years before coming back, he’d been a part of Yuuri’s every day life. The change, though expected, was still sudden and Yuuri’s been missing his best friend. Viktor’s genuinely happy they’ll be able to have this.

 

That night, they savor. Knowing their time is limited gives them the vague sense that they have all the time in the world, that they can _take_ all the time in the world. Yuuri brushes Viktor’s hair after the shower. Viktor makes them both tea. They curl up as best they can on the couch, huddled under a blanket as they half-watch a movie. It’s tender and gentle and almost bittersweet knowing about their imminent separation. Nationals are in less than a month, and Viktor has to refine everything he possibly can if he wants to take the gold.

Wants it, he does. Yuri’s a favorite for the Grand Prix Final and Viktor has high hopes for him there, but he has a reputation to maintain. The fire of determination is strong, the desire to win more present in Viktor’s mind than ever in recent memory, and there’s no guarantee. It adds a sort of thrill, the unexpected mystery, and Viktor finds it almost euphoric when he lets himself imagine how it may go. Will he struggle, too sure of himself for his own good? Or is he truly as ready as he feels, back at the top of his game for the first time in far too long?

_He doesn’t know, and it’s exciting._

 

~*~

 

The lights of China’s cities glitter below as the plane makes its way back to Russia. With the onboard lights dimmed and a lukewarm cup of coffee in front of him, Viktor’s calm. Makka’s tags jingle as he adjusts himself where he’s laying next to Katya, and there’s a soft shuffling before Viktor feels his maman wrap her arms around him.

“Can’t sleep, darling?” she asks softly.

“No,” he whispers.

Kissing the top of his head, she moves to take the seat opposite. “I had something I wanted to ask you about.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” she says, “but I’ll be in St. Petersburg in a few weeks. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch?”

“Where were you thinking?”

Shrugging, she glances out the window, then back at him. “Likely whatever hotel I’m staying at, I imagine.”

“You don’t know where you’re staying?”

She shakes her head. “I’m still working that out, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Pursing his lips, Viktor looks towards the rear end, where the staff are. “Give me one sec,” he says to his mother as he stands.

Going through the curtain has everyone looking towards him. It seems much of the staff is awake, and he makes a beeline towards Chef Elena.

“I have a question,” he says, sitting across from her.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would it be possible for me to have a guest?”

“I don’t see why that’d be a problem,” she says. “Just let us know when and for how long, sir, we can make sure everything’s arranged.”

Gratefully, Viktor nods. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do. It’ll be my Maman, she’s got a client in St. Petersburg and I was hoping she could stay with us for a bit.”

Smiling, the chef nods. “That’s perfectly okay, we just need any important information you have, and I’ll need to know if there are any dietary considerations.”

“For sure,” Viktor says as he stands again. “Thank you, I’ll get you the details as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate it, sir.”

As he reaches the curtain, he looks back. “Would it be too much to ask for some more coffee? I understand it’s late.”

A flight attendant nods. “Of course, sir. I’ll have that right in.”

Thanking him, Viktor goes back towards the front, taking his seat again.

“Stay at the house with me,” he offers.

“Are you sure?”

Viktor nods. “I am. I checked with the chef and she says we can accomodate you just fine. Just let us know when it’ll be.”

“If you’re sure,” she says.

“I am, Maman. Just let us know when you’ll be out and if you need the driver to pick you up from Pulkovo.”

“Driver? Aren’t _you_ fancy?” she asks.

Viktor sticks out his tongue. “Just keep me posted, yes?”

She nods. “I will, Vitya. I look forward to it.” Coffee the flight attendant brings is received with thanks, the insulated carafes holding coffee and cream set aside next to a small ceramic sugar dish. They sit in comfortable silence, watching cities slowly pass below. At one point, she reaches her hand out, taking Viktor’s and giving it a squeeze. Much like Viktor, Hilaire tends to relish the experience of just _being_ with someone, sharing space without talking. Alexei and Katya tend to be more talkative, taking after their other mother, and Viktor enjoys chatting with them, too, but the moments of companionable silence are just as important.

He smiles at his mother, she smiles back, and they sit together as the plane flies towards home.

 

~*~

 

“Stop!” Viktor’s voice rings across the rink and his little cousin skids to a halt, spraying ice everywhere.

“What the _fuck,_ Viktor?! I was doing fine!”

“I saw that turn mess you up, start the sequence again and watch your edges.”

“I already took fucking gold at the Grand Prix, what the fuck?! I know how to skate my fucking routine!”

“Do you think I stopped refining basic things after taking the Grand Prix Final Gold? No. Now run it again, unless you’re absolutely sure you don’t need to. Remember, you’ll have _me_ to compete against at Nationals.”

It takes everything not to frown as Yuri kicks the ice, skating quickly away. He’s been obstinate since Viktor’d returned. Grumpy. It seems the idea of competing against Viktor is something he both relishes and dreads. Still, he runs the drills Viktor has him do, listens to criticism and focuses on training for the approaching competition. Viktor can feel his cousin’s eyes on him as _he_ practices, watching his footwork, his entries into jumps and how he compensates for missteps. He knows Viktor’s still at the top of the field, and he knows Viktor’s doing well in practice.

When Viktor runs through his programs a week before nationals, with zero errors and a base score to rival Yuri’s highest, it seems his little cousin starts realizing exactly who he’ll be up against.

The determination in his eyes is as fiery as his free skate, and Viktor feels the stirrings of excitement again. Nationals gold will fall to one of them, and it’s a genuine question who’ll come out on top.

The thrill of competition is _exquisite,_ and Viktor remembers why he'd grown to love it so much in the first place.

 

~*~

 

Moscow is delightfully cold when Viktor steps off the plane. He and the rest of Yakov’s skaters flew in the small jet the Royal Family’s provided for Viktor’s use, which means they’re exiting directly onto the tarmac and will be driven straight to the hotel rather than dealing with the hoards of fans often staking out the baggage claim.

“This is _fancy,”_ Mila says as they climb into the limousine.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Baba, you keep saying that,” Yuri bites. “Of course it’s fucking fancy.”

Ignoring him, Mila looks at Viktor. “You’re paying for dinner, right?”

“I usually do,” he says.

“Can we go somewhere fancy?”

“Only if you get the sufganiyot this year.” Buying a dozen donuts and some coffee in exchange for what Viktor assumes will be an incredible meal is a small price to pay and Mila knows it, so she nods.

Viktor looks at his little cousin. “Why don’t you invite your Grandpa to dinner this year?”

“Really?”

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “Of course! I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

“I’ll ask.” Still doing his best to play the angsty teenager, Yuri’s voice softens with his acceptance of Viktor’s offer. Leaning back, he pulls out his phone, presumably texting his grandfather. Or posting on Instagram, it’s hard to know which at any given moment.

Their arrival at the hotel is heralded with the shouts of a crowd, the clicking of camera shutters as everyone gets out of the car. Viktor’s staff— several bodyguards and two of his personal assistants, as the Palace requires— will unload the luggage in the parking garage and make sure each person has their stuff within the hour.

Early afternoon sun shining overhead, Viktor takes a moment to greet the crowd as his bodyguards flank him on either side. Yulian has his gear bag and backpack, neither of which Viktor is comfortable having out of sight for too long. The press crowds the security guards lining the path in, shouting their questions over the roaring of the crowd and the shouts of the security guards.

Russia's National Hero is in competition once again. Even without his relationship, without the recent increase in his presence in the media, the uproar would have been huge.

 

They're greeted by hotel staff, room keys at the ready. It's clear much of their concern is with making Viktor happy, the benefits for his rinkmates a by-product of their association with him. Still, he thanks them graciously, making a point to show his appreciation for their kindness towards everyone, before he's let into the elevator.

His suite is large, with two bedrooms so his bodyguards can more effectively do their jobs. His other staff has a room just down the hall, available at all hours of the day. It's unlikely anything will come up requiring their services at odd hours, but they've made their availability clear.

As it has a decent sized table with chairs, Viktor’s suite is designated as the official meeting place of sorts where Yakov will run through their schedules. Food is ordered, Viktor making sure his staff gets meals as well, and as they eat Yakov talks.

Obscene amounts of press are expected as far as Viktor's concerned. In addition to the normal sports channel reporters are general news outlets, journalists from Akitsushima, and a multitude of international outlets, clamoring to get the scoop on the Living Legend's return. Though they tend to make him let his own decisions, the Palace has strictly delineated which outfits he's supposed to wear and when, and what changes to make depending on how he's doing in competition. Impressions are crucial, and the one Viktor needs to make must be perfect.

Clearly, Yakov thinks it ridiculous, but he says nothing.

 

In bed that first night, Viktor pulls up a video link in a days-old message from Yuuri. It’s a speech he made, fairly routine by the Palace’s standards, wishing those who celebrate Chanukkah a good one. Viktor hadn’t bothered bringing his menorah to the hotel— they’ll be there through the last two nights and between the excitement of competition, a relatively full schedule around practice on the day he doesn’t compete, and the loneliness of missing Yuuri and their families, he’s not sure he’ll have the energy.

It’s nice seeing his fiancé and hearing his voice, even if it _is_ a pre-recorded, scripted video for the general public.

The video message he gets from Yuuri a few minutes later, though, warms his heart. It starts with an explanation that Yuuri’s too busy to call, talking with the legal committee about sentencing for those involved in the conspiracy, but shortly moves on. “Happy Chanukkah from Nori and my family and I,” he starts with a radiant smile. Though he’s in his office, it’s early enough in the day that sleep still colors his expression. The cup of coffee next to him is steaming in the cold, despite the fire Viktor can see roaring in the background. It must be recently lit.

Softly, Yuuri wishes Viktor good luck, promises he’ll watch the competition live, or as close to it as possible. He starts to say something about Mari, but is interrupted by knocking and a hushed, deferential voice. When he looks back at the camera, it’s with a grimace. “That was my assistant, the committee is here and I need to go meet them.” Glancing at the door, he leans in close. “Takeda’s exhausted his last leads. Yoshida tried to bribe prison administration and they caught it all on camera, so there’s that to consider too, and we’re finally about to start—” He looks up abruptly, nodding and saying he’ll be right out, before he looks back down. “I have to go, sorry. I love you, and I hope you sleep well tonight. Sorry if the notification wakes you up. I love you. I’ll watch. Goodnight, my Vityusha.”

Smiling, Viktor hugs his phone to his chest as he curls into his blanket. “I love you,” he texts with a smiley face, before plugging his phone in and setting it back on the nightstand. The short program is tomorrow, and he needs to be well-rested.

 

~*~

 

Excitement buzzes in the air as he arrives at the venue the next morning. Lining the path in is a crowd of people, cameras and cellphones raised high, all pointed at him. Smiling, he gives everyone a wave as he walks in. Though he’s carrying his own garment and gear bags, he’s still flanked by his bodyguards and he feels better having them in addition to rink security. He declines comments on his way in, making only a few remarks about how he’s hoping everyone’s able to compete at their best.

A member of the staff hands him his badge just inside the door, then hands two more access badges to his bodyguards, with an extra in case another member of Viktor’s staff needs to get in for some reason. It’s unlikely, but the chance is always there and he thanks them. The arena’s been incredibly accommodating of his additional needs, not once complaining about the security or stipulations the Palace has about Viktor’s media presence at any given moment. Walking into the competitor’s area, he feels all eyes on him. The other senior Russian men eye Viktor and his rinkmates warily. Yakov’s reputation as a coach who gets results is well-founded, and Viktor and Georgi (and now, Yuri,) have followed in the footsteps of some of their former, more senior rinkmates and dominated the field.

There’s little doubt in Viktor’s mind that, had he not been a figure skater, Georgi would have been Russia’s darling for at least a little while, there. Life, though, had other plans and it’s Viktor honored (and burdened) with the title of National Hero.

 

Warm-ups go well. Late to the ice, Viktor’s entrance isn’t missed, and as he skates towards the center of the rink, the crowd bursts into raucous applause, his name being chanted through the stadium as flags and banners are waved. He waves in return, smiling. After a couple of laps to greet everyone, Viktor lets his focus narrow to just him and the program he’s about to skate.

_Eros._ Pursuit, and being pursued all in one. A give-and-take, the likes of which had defined his relationship with Yuuri from the start.

_Desire._ There’s so much he wants, so much he’d never dared to dream he could have, and love had always fallen into both categories. Until now. He wants Yuuri, and is wanted in return. He loves Yuuri, and is loved in return, and it’s only ever been about _them._ Their love, their commitment, and as the announcer directs everyone off the ice, Viktor presses a kiss to the golden ring he wears.

Cameras go wild, and he abruptly remembers he still has an audience. Turning to skate backward, he gives another wave before stepping through the gap in the boards. Yakov hands him his hard guards, then his jacket, and they leave for the competitor’s area.

 

They stop on the way for a brief statement on Viktor’s part. Smiling at the small crowd of reporters, he tells them how good it feels to be back, how he’s enjoying seeing what everyone’s put together this year. He makes sure to mention how thankful he is for Yuuri’s support, how comforting it is to know that wherever Yuuri is, whatever he’s doing, he’ll be watching Viktor skate.

“You can say with absolute certainty that His Majesty is so supportive?” one of the throng ask and Viktor’s eyes narrow.

“I can,” he says. “Through my recovery, my fiancé has been nothing but supportive of my training and decision to come back to competition.”

“Does His Majesty feel you’ll overshadow him should you win here?”

“We have never viewed our relationship as a competition of any sort. Yuuri is very proud of my success, as I am proud of his skillful leadership, and neither of us feel the need to compare.”

Yakov drags him away. He needs to stay focused, needs to stay warmed up and ready to skate. Standing around answering questions is counterproductive at this point, and he can focus on publicity later. For now, he puts his earbuds in, threads the cord through his jacket, and plugs it in as he selects the song, letting himself fall into what choreography he can as he waits for his turn.

 

The arena is silent after Viktor’s name is announced. The audience knows what comes next, and as Viktor pulls his zipper down to reveal his costume— a black and mesh bodysuit with embroidered flames of silver up one side— whispers erupt. It’s the first glimpse the public has had of his new costume at all. Even Yuuri only saw it once, when Viktor tried them both on to show him. He knows it glitters in the light, knows the black of his gloves stand out in stark contrast as they move through the air.

He knows the entire arena can likely pick out the brace, black though it may be. It’s certainly been a topic of conversation amongst those who’d seen him wearing it in news pieces. Rolling his neck, he shakes his shoulders, bends down and takes his hard guards off. Tension palpable, it’s clear the entire arena is waiting with bated breath, watching his every move with unwavering attention.

First, he kisses the ring on his finger. Yuuri’s watching, he knows, because he’d said he would and he always does. Smiling, Viktor waves at the crowd, earning a few sparse cheers, but when he takes his opening position, all is silent once more.

A rush of notes from a Spanish guitar drift through the air and Viktor runs his hands down his body, smirks and blows a kiss at the main camera behind the judges table, and lets himself get carried in a rush. Fast yet easy, the footwork is well-practiced and comes to him with little resistance. His first jump, he lands perfectly, and the audience bursts into brief applause before falling silent once more.

Twisting, turning, changing direction in an unpredictable flurry of motion he glides across the ice, landing every step sequence, every jump and spin. With distinct movements of his hip he zigzags his way through his routine and into jumps, flying through the air with aplomb.

By the end, he’s a flushed, sweaty mess, though triumphant. It was near-perfect, only one touch on the ice to lower his score. Skating in a lazy circle, he picks up a poodle plush someone had thrown, gets handed more flowers by the young sweepers cleaning the ice. Smiling, he waves at the crowd, biting back a small twinge of pain in his chest. It’s normal, after strenuous exercise, and this routine is indeed strenuous. When he steps off, he barely has his skate guards on before people are shoving more bouquets into his hands, shouting congratulations. At the Kiss and Cry he sits with bated breath to hear his score. His hand subtly rubs his ribs behind the flowers, but aside from that, he waits. Yakov, usually more than happy to break down the minutiae of Viktor’s mistakes on camera, is silent.

He comes in second, but barely. Yuri’d skated a flawless routine, more than deserving of the high score he’d received, and the increase in his PCS since the last competition was enough to put him ahead of Viktor after the mistake he’d made. The thrill of a challenge surges through him, and his giddy smile is as genuine as it’s ever been. Viktor Nikiforov had returned, skated a near-flawless program, and come in just behind the sport’s newest, youngest prodigy. It’s a story for the ages, and one that has yet to end.

 

The post-short program interviews are held in a larger room than normal, and with the added number of press Viktor can see why. Yuri and Georgi, the other two at the top of the competition, both give him incredulous looks when they see the number of journalists. Viktor merely shrugs. It really isn’t his fault if the press are fixated on him like this. Scoffing, Yuri rolls his eyes, and they file onto the stage when asked.

Yuri and Georgi are almost ignored.

Time and time again, Viktor does his best to steer the reporter’s questions about his career back to his competitors as well, going far as to individually praise them, but all the media sees is ratings, and Viktor nearly guarantees them. When an ISO official comes in and dictates set amounts of time to question each of them, the press seem to remember that they have a job to do. At Viktor’s request, the ISO official says that his answer session will be last, essentially forcing the journalists to take note of Yuri and Georgi.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by his rinkmates, and he knows Georgi at least understands Viktor still wants them to get the respect they’re due. His love life shouldn’t overshadow his own accomplishments, much less anyone else’s, but when it’s his turn to speak he graciously thanks the press for their patience, reiterates how excited he is for his competitors and how much he’s enjoying being here, before moving on to the rest of their questions.

 

An abrupt pounding on the door late that night has Viktor looking up from his book, frowning. Yulian walks out of the bedroom, gesturing at Viktor to stay put before peering through the peephole. There’s more pounding, what sounds like a kick, and Viktor can _see_ Yulian’s eyeroll as he pulls open the door.

“Mr. Yuri Plisetsky,” he mutters as the aforementioned teen storms in.

Coming to stand in front of Victor, Yuri crosses his arms. “Hey, asshole, it’s the last night of Chanukkah.”

“I’m aware,” Viktor says. He puts a bookmark to mark his place and sets the novel aside.

“Grandpa says to come over.”

“What?”

Yuri looks to the side. “Grandpa says to come over, he’s frying up some pirozhki and sufganiyot and shit and he wants you to come over and light candles and whatnot.”

“Why?” Viktor blurts. Nikolai’s never been rude, but he’s certainly not pulled Yuri’s rinkmates into his loving embrace.

“It’s _Chanukkah,_ dumbass, are you coming or not?!” Ever cryptic, Yuri’s scowl says he’s already fed up with having to explain himself. Viktor looks at Yulian, eyebrows raised.

Yulian nods. “I don’t see why we couldn’t accommodate that, so long as Mr. Plisetsky Sr. is okay with us sitting in his driveway.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Yuri says, “he’ll probably make you tea and shit.”

“Don’t be _rude.”_ Frowning, Viktor stands, adjusting his jeans. “I’ll go if we can swing it.”

Nodding, Yulian gives a short bow. “I’ll talk to the others.”

 

The SUV pulls into Nikolai’s driveway, headlights flashing across the front of the modest house. Viktor’s been here once before, when Yuri was much younger, to pick him up for a flight back to St. Petersburg. Aside from the half-hour Yuri’d kept him waiting, he hasn’t spent enough time here, or with Nikolai, to feel entirely comfortable. Still, it isn’t a formal occasion and the atmosphere is incredibly relaxed as Yuri leads them in.

Happy to see them, Nikolai shoves mugs of tea into everyone’s hands, telling them to take a seat in the living room while he finishes cooking. The smell of cooked meat, onions, and cabbage permeates the air, blending with hot oil and coffee. Yuri vanishes into the kitchen.

Yulian and Sofia, the other bodyguard accompanying him, look at each other, then at Viktor.

“Should we be in here, sir?” Yulian asks.

Viktor shrugs. “Nikolai told everyone to come in here, so I assume so. I’d think he’d know I was bringing bodyguards.”

“If I didn’t want you in my living room,” Nikolai says as he walks in, “you would not be here.” He sets a plate of freshly-fried pirozhki in front of them.

“We just wanted to be considerate of your celebrations,” Yulian says. “We have no problem staying out of the way.”

“It is your choice. I have a table in the kitchen you can sit at, or you can stay here.”

Yulian stands. “We’ll take the table in the kitchen if that’s alright.” With him, Sofia thanks Nikolai for the tea, nodding when he tells them the samovar is on and to serve up whenever they’d like, and they both take a few pirozhki after he points almost menacingly at them, before vanishing through the door.

Walking in from wherever he’d gone, Yuri’s carrying several menorahs and a box of candles, dumping them unceremoniously on the table. Nikolai gets them set up, offers candles to Viktor and gestures at the third.

“We light the candles, and then we eat.”

That’s what they do.

The room glows as they eat, a warmth in the light Viktor savors. He hadn’t intended on celebrating at all, but this is nice. Nikolai plies him with more pirozhki and a genuine smile. When Yuri runs off to find some dreidels, Viktor looks at the older man.

“I want to thank you,” he says. “I hadn’t planned on celebrating, but I’ve enjoyed this.”

With a huff, Nikolai nods. “It does not do to celebrate alone. Or to make family celebrate alone.”

Raising his eyebrow, Viktor glances towards the door Yuri’d gone through and back to see Nikolai chuckling.

“Yuratchka told me,” he says.

Viktor nods. “I just. Thank you, Nikolai Mikhaelovich, I—”

“Uncle Kolya is fine.”

Mouth agape, Viktor looks at him. “I don’t want to force my way int—”

“Nonsense. My grandson and I are happy to have you. Finish your pirozhok and I’ll get the donuts.”

Viktor gulps, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

Perfectly crispy on the outside, soft on the inside with homemade fruit filling, the sufganiyot Nikolai made are delectable. Yuri scarfs down three when he gets back, complaining all the while about how hot they are as he portions out the gelt he brought. Dreidels come next, and they play until Yuri has a pile of chocolate coins in front of him, Nikolai has a fond smile on his face, and Viktor, left ‘destitute’ with a solitary coin in his possession, has a genuine sparkle in his eyes.

 

“It’s all about the wrist,” Yura says as he unwraps a coin in the limo.

“Of course,” Viktor mutters, taking an offered coin and unwrapping it.

“It takes skill!”

“Indeed.”

Pouting, Yuri shoves his coin in his mouth and looks out the window. “You’re just jealous I won.”

“Absolutely.” Viktor watches as they pass St. Basil’s cathedral, swirling, illuminated towers rising into the dark of the night sky. “Thank you,” he says as they approach the hotel.

“Huh?”

“For inviting me. I enjoyed celebrating with you guys.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, anytime or whatever,” Yuri mutters. In the low light it’s hard to see, but his cheeks appear dusted with pink as he looks down at his hands.

As they pull up, Viktor ruffles his hair, getting his hand swatted away in return but it’s clear from the half-smile on Yuri’s lips that he’s not entirely upset about it. He does make a point to shove Viktor lightly before getting out of the car and keeping a comfortable distance as they walk in, but it’s all show and the smile they share in the privacy of the elevator proves it.

 

~*~

 

The night before the free program, they go to dinner, and a nice dinner it is. Viktor gives the hostess an almost embarrassing amount of money to ensure a good table with another for his bodyguards, where they won’t be hounded. She takes them to a private dining room, seating everyone before putting the menus on the tables and leaving them to decide.

“There are no fucking prices on this menu,” Yuri mutters as he looks it over.

“Just pick whatever you want,” Viktor says, looking over the entrees available, “it's not like you're paying.”

Yuri huffs, flopping back in his chair. He’s going to wrinkle his suit if he isn’t careful.

“Do you mean _anything?”_ Mila asks.

“Don't push it.” Turning the menu over, Viktor inspects the wine list.

The waitress is quick about taking orders, promising drinks will be out promptly. Viktor’s bodyguards order as well, and the waitress confirms with Viktor that they’re on his bill before heading back to the kitchens.

She must have shared the tip Viktor had given with the chef; their food comes out quickly, perfect, and steaming hot, and there are smiles around as they dig in.

Dessert is ordered and delivered just as quickly, with coffee all around and it’s this opportunity everyone takes to wish Viktor and Georgi well as they turn another year older. The restaurant insists on taking dessert off the bill when they find out, despite Viktor’s protests. Yuri takes decidedly more pleasure in tugging violently at his ears than he had before, telling Viktor about the alleged bald spot he’s getting to match Yakov’s.

He’s not getting a bald spot, he asked his hairdresser last week, but it takes some effort to resist touching the top of his head to make sure.

“You’re not balding,” Georgi whispers as they walk out to the car later.

Viktor raises an eyebrow but nods, before the driver stands at attention next to the limo door, bows, and opens it. The reminder is almost jarring in light of the relatively enjoyable dinner, but Viktor says nothing, instead climbing into the car. He can feel his rinkmates’ eyes on him during the drive, though he staunchly directs his gaze out the window.

He should never have expected that things might possibly go back to seeming normal.

 

~*~

 

Soft chimes filter through Viktor’s sleep until he’s blinking groggily into the early morning light. Grabbing his phone, he goes to reject whatever call it is coming in at this godforsaken hour, the day of his free skate no less, but stops when he sees Yuuri’s face. Answering it, he’s happy to see Yuuri’s face come up onscreen.

“Happy birthday,” Yuuri says in fluid Russian.

“What time is it?”

Chuckling, Yuuri looks back down at the clock. “One in the afternoon here, which means six a.m. for you.”

“Six?”

“Don’t you have practice to be getting to?”

Viktor rolls on his side. “Not for another hour and a half.” Sighing, he smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri replies. “I wish I could be there again this year, but it’s a bit harder now.”

Nodding, Viktor hums for a second before looking directly into the camera. “Yuuri? When did you decide to surprise me in Russia?”

“Uhh, just before I got trashed,” he says.

“The day before I left.”

Yuuri nods. “Exactly. I had the Palace arrange it and asked Minako if she had ideas for avoiding the press and she offered… help. She didn’t specify who she’d be able to get last minute but it was Madame Lilia.”

Viktor snorts before dissolving into laughter. “You put more thought into the Makkachin plush than international travel.”

“Honestly I just told the Palace I was going and they made arrangements. They had to arrange Hana-nee's travel, too, so I couldn't just buy whatever ticket was convenient.” He looks to the side, smiling, and reaches both hands out for a cup of coffee. Hana appears on-screen behind him and waves.

“Happy birthday!”

“Thanks!”

She waves again, hugs Yuuri and whispers something in his ear, then vanishes off-screen.

“She has training to be doing,” Yuuri explains. “Do you have plans for your birthday?”

“We went to dinner last night.”

“And today's the free?”

“Yeah,” Viktor says. “Yura's determined to beat me.”

“He’ll have to earn it,” Yuuri laughs. “He’s good, but you’ve got experience.”

“I’ll have to earn my record back,” Viktor replies. “I’m not letting him keep it if I can help it.” Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he runs his fingers through his hair.

“That’s the spirit.” Smiling, Yuuri leans towards the camera. “I believe in you,” he says. “Skate your best, yeah? For me. I’ll be watching.”

Warm and near-giddy, Viktor smiles sappily at his fiancé. “I will, Yuuri. I’ll skate for you. The song is about our love, you know.”

Blushing, Yuuri nods. “I know, Vityusha. I’ll be watching.”

Viktor’s alarm starts blaring from his speakers and in his scrambling to turn it off, he almost drops the phone. Yuuri’s laughing when he gets it situated again, leaning back and half turned away in his office chair as he clutches his stomach. “Holy shit, your _face!”_

Pouting, Viktor makes clear his displeasure until Yuuri is facing towards him again, leaning close to the camera. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, still clearly restraining a chuckle. “You just looked so shocked.”

“It startled me.”

“I can tell. Gotta go shower?”

Nodding, Viktor blows a kiss to the camera. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri says. “I’ll be watching, I promise.”

_I promise._ Yuuri keeps his promises, and Viktor will do his utmost not to let him down.

 

He’s herded towards the press on arrival. Their questions are typical, at first. What he’s feeling, how he’s planning on beating his competitors. Yulian steps forward, silent and intimidating when they start prying about his private life.

“Regarding the competition,” one reporter starts, “I did have a question.” Light, unassuming, her tone is immediately friendly, drawing Viktor’s attention. “As we all know, you’re coming in behind Yuri Plisetsky. How does it feel to be losing, and what factors do you think are contributing?”

Eyes narrow, his face falls. “You’re asking me why I’m _losing_ when I’m less than three points behind first place?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“First, I hardly think second place is _losing._ Second, I’d like to point out that recovering from multiple lacerations on my hip, two broken ribs, and a broken wrist is difficult at best. As far as how I feel, I'm _proud_ to be where I am.” His gaze traces over the reporters as they lean close, eagerly awaiting his commentary. “I'm proud,” he says, “because after months of physical therapy and grueling training, I've refined my programs enough that I feel confident skating today. I'm proud that after all of that work I am in second place here, alongside some of the best skaters in the world. In addition, I'm proud of my competitors. I hold no resentment towards Yuri. He's worked hard to get where he is, and has more than earned the place he holds.”

“Surely you must regret mentoring him to the point where he could surpass you,” the reporter says.

“Surely you’re not assuming you can read my mind.” Crossing his arms, ignoring the twinge in his side, he glowers. “I do not, for one moment, regret my part in his success. I choreographed the routine—”

“Set to a different arrangement of your own music, can you elaborate on that?”

“As I was saying,” he continues, “I choreographed the routine while anticipating coming back to competition, knowing there was a possibility of Yuri surpassing me. I gave it to him, and his hard work has made it what it is today. I’m here to compete and pit my best against that of my competitors. Whether or not I win is secondary.”

“And the music?”

“A challenge,” he says, “and one well-met. If you’ll excuse me.” Turning, he walks away, Yakov at his side.

 

The phone rings against his left ear, Yuuri’s voicemail kicking in for the second time. With a curse, Viktor hangs up, leaning his head against the wall as he breathes. His nerves haven’t been this bad in years, and he knows Yuuri’s watching but he just wants to hear it one more time before it’s his turn on the ice. Georgi is just starting his program, and Viktor has less than four minutes. He’s just pulling up Yuuri’s contact picture again when the phone rings.

It’s Yuuri, and he answers in an instant.

“You sound upset,” Yuuri says after Viktor’s greeting.

“I’m… I’m not upset. Just…” Shaky, he breathes out, fiddling with the brace on his wrist.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I don’t even know why, I’m not going to be upset if I lose, I… it’s not about winning, I’m glad to be here to begin with.”

“Nerves don’t have to make sense,” Yuuri murmurs, shuffling something around. “But this isn’t the first time you’ve had them. You’ve skated through them before, you’ll be able to again.”

“And if I skate badly?”

“You skate badly,” Yuuri says. “You skate badly, and you pick yourself back up, and you compete at Euros and do your best there, and I’ll be cheering you on the entire time.” Viktor’s silent for a moment, and he hears Yuuri sigh on the other end. “Breathe, Vitya,” he says. “Deep breaths. Don’t try to distract yourself, just breathe, like you do when I’m panicking, yeah?”

Viktor nods before he forgets Yuuri can’t see him, and makes an affirmative hum before doing his best to follow instructions.

_Breathe in._

Competitions are like this. There’s pressure to win, yes, but Viktor’s already proved he’s ready to return in the first place.

_Breathe out._

One bad skate here won’t negate the progress he’s made, nor his score in the short. He’d scored high. He’s proved he’s capable of a comeback.

_Breathe in._

No skater on this Earth has gotten every gold they’ve competed for, himself included.

_Breathe out._

He’s lost before. He’s won before. All he can do is his best, and he’s ready to try.

_Breathe in._

Yuuri will watch. Yuuri will be cheering. Their families are watching, and hoping and expecting him to—

_Breathe out._

They’re watching for the competition, not just to see him win. He’ll be okay, regardless.

“Better?” Yuuri’s voice, soft and full of affection brings him slowly back to the here and now.

“Yeah,” he says. “Better.”

They whisper love until Yulian comes around the corner, tapping his watch as a reminder to Viktor that his turn’s coming up.

“I have to go, Lyubov,” he says. “Watch me?”

“I will. I love you. Davai, Vityusha.”

 

“Please welcome the next competitor, Figure Skating’s Living Legend and our National Hero, back after a devastating injury: Viktor Nikiforov!!”

Handing his jacket to Yakov, Viktor takes to the ice to the screams of his fans. The glitter in the deep, swirling jewel tones of his outfit shines in the arena lights as he shows off. Where at warmups he keeps his greetings small, not wanting to look like he’s trying to outshine his competitors, in this moment it’s about him and he relishes it. He waves, he blows kisses, he skates laps forwards and backwards and does a bit of footwork as he makes his way towards the center of the rink.

Another small circle as he breathes, centering himself in the moment he has, before kissing the ring on his finger and taking his opening pose. Hands at his side, feet crossed at the ankles, head down, it’s similar to the opening for Stammi Vicino, and with good reason.

Yuuri.

Stammi Vicino was their first connection as far as the ice went, was something he’d poured his love into during each run-through, competition or not, and Yuuri had not only seen and tried to emulate the routine itself, but returned his love fervently.

Piano notes, soft and gentle drift on the air and he brings his hands up, cupping the air in front of his face before moving into his routine. It starts slow, languid movements pulling the piano melody along and as it reaches its first small crescendo he jumps. Quad toe loop, triple toe loop, and a solid landing. The music he’d commissioned is a story, and one only Yuuri knows. At first, the awkward hesitation, the tiptoeing around the start of feelings unsaid for months as they grew closer.

Then, the violins. That connection, forged when Viktor realized he could be himself and still be loved, when Yuuri demonstrably showed he cared for the man more than the Legend. Weaving gently through the piano, the violin melody shows the crashing-together that had come after this epiphany, the both of them simultaneously being pulled into each other’s orbit and glad to stay. Quad Salchow, followed shortly by a triple flip as he falls further into the music. Now integrated, the violin and piano melodies are one, building to a peak before abruptly going quiet.

Their kiss. That first kiss they shared, the one that effectively sealed Viktor’s fate as a man absolutely smitten. The softness of the music is echoed in the grace of Viktor’s arms, the slow choreography, the calm in his face and the set of his shoulders. He arches his back, an Ina Bauer that feels absolutely exquisite.

A triple Axel, and the music builds again, slow though it is. The quad toe loop is unexpected, Yakov had anticipated Viktor’s chest hurting more than it does, but as absorbed in the routine as he is, Viktor hardly feels a thing. Again, he jumps, the crack of his blade against the ice when he lands music to his ears.

The piano melody begins another crescendo, this time with a determined energy much like the one after their engagement, a steady build of adrenaline he lets himself feel, using it to launch himself into one of his finest step sequences yet. Swirling across the ice, he throws everything into his performance, into his footwork, the swing of his hips, the sweeping arcs of his arms as multiple melodies come together in a demonstration of the relationship that had only become stronger through the trials and tribulations weathered with unwavering love and support and as it peaks he jumps.

His signature move, the quad flip he he’s known for and he soars through the air as the crowd erupts into applause, the solid landing cathartic as the music abruptly becomes something tender, almost raw in the love it shows. As he spins, he’s reminded of the gentle way Yuuri has of reassuring him, the soft moments they share only in absolute privacy. Coming to a stop, he once again cups the air in front of him before pulling it to his chest, thrusting his hands out in front of him, and offering himself to the audience.

_“Here I am,”_ he says with the movement.

_“Here I am, and you will remember this.”_

Such a conclusion to a perfectly-skated program is as much a symbolic gesture to his supporters as it is a challenge to those working against him, and the message is clear.

 

Gold around his neck and a new world record on his shoulders, Viktor stands at the top of the podium in euphoric victory. Yuri smiles as best he can, as conflicted as he is about the silver he wears and Georgi, wearing bronze, still looks thrilled.

The Living Legend has burst back into competition in a blaze of glory, and Russia screams its love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Don't stop us now  
>  **The moment of truth**  
>  We were born to make history._  
> \- History Maker, Dean Fujioka
> 
> Whew this is particularly late holy shit. Shit happened irl, and with Thanksgiving and all things have been hectic. But it's done.
> 
> Naturally, my schedule's been bumped off alignment, and with Chanukkah here I'm. Still relatively busy, especially as there are... three holidays to celebrate what with those close to me celebrating theirs. And inviting me, which is nice but still. My most sincere wish is to get all of the next chapter done by the end of December. I hope to take no longer than a month. I'll do my best!!
> 
> Thank you all for being patient, your support is invaluable and incredibly motivating, even when I'm otherwise not feeling it. It also helps me be gentle with myself when I just _can't._
> 
> Thanks to Isis for doing the beta-thing so wonderfully and dealing not only with my constant promises of "it's almost there I swear" and "no really, this time I mean it" and beta-ing at the last minute. You're a gem.
> 
> Also, to my beloved Riki, you've been a stalwart source of support and I love you for dealing with my freakouts (among other things).


	18. This Is Our Life, This Is Our Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor prides himself on his work ethic, his determination, and his ability to persevere through even the most rigorous training. Stubbornness, though, can end up biting back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [We're Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTC1TEVo3Aw) [(Lyrics)](https://genius.com/Twisted-sister-were-not-gonna-take-it-lyrics)

Rubbing the side of his chest, Viktor does his best to avoid grimacing as he makes his way downstairs. Breakfast is cooking, the scent of frying potatoes and hot, fresh coffee getting stronger as he approaches the dining room. Entering the dining room, he smiles as an assistant waves him over.

“Good morning, sir,” Zlata says as he sits carefully.

“Good morning.” Looking up, Viktor thanks the attendant who sets hot coffee and food in front of him. “Is there a schedule change?”

She nods. “Today’s interview has switched with the accompanying photo shoot.”

“So pictures today, interview on Wednesday?”

Nodding, she sips her coffee. “They were hoping for some of you on the ice, is this still okay?”

“Yeah,” Viktor says, “of course. Nothing too strenuous, it’s a rest day.” A much-needed one. In the week since Nationals he's been pushing hard.

Really hard.

Yuri had lost the gold by a small enough margin that Viktor knows if he wants to win, he'll need to step up his game and he _has._ He’s just not sure it’s enough.

“As far as the investigation goes, there have been a few more hurdles put in place.”

“What are those?” Viktor asks.

She sighs. “A few members of the prosecution feel our evidence is currently inadequate. His Majesty and His Royal Highness have taken steps to ensure the maximum amount possible, but still. Now the legal team is in another round of reexamining and compiling what evidence is available, and better arguments with regards to the case.”

“Do you think we’ll lose?” Viktor asks.

Taking a deep breath, she sips her coffee before looking at him. “His Majesty and Their Royal Highnesses are confident that this is just another road bump, but sympathizers are doing their best to win support among the public. So far, the support they’ve gathered is minimal, much of the public still backs your relationship and His Majesty’s place on the throne, but we’ll be looking into ways to garner additional support.”

“Are they calling for abdication?”

“Not as such, sir. Those working against yourself and His Majesty are of divided purpose. Right now, the goal is to get His Majesty off the throne, though after that they’re decidedly at odds. One group is of the opinion that His Majesty himself is the problem, and should the throne pass on, preferably to the Grand Duke or even Prince Kaoru rather than the Crown Princess, we will be, quote, ‘free of the problems plaguing the monarchy.’ They claim loyalty to tradition and the sovereign line and would rather see progressive monarchs, such as King Yuuri, removed from power while maintaining the current governmental structure.”

“And the others?”

“Are Anti-Royalist, and would prefer the dissolution of the monarchy as a whole.”

Viktor snorts. “I imagine there’ll be plenty of infighting, if there isn’t already.”

“I would be inclined to agree, sir,” she says. “We’re currently working with the courts to allow for your testimony, if it’s required, to be given remotely so as not to interrupt your training schedule more than is necessary.”

“I appreciate it,” Viktor replies. “Is Yuuri still getting people calling for execution or has that died down?”

“Execution, exile… People want everything, some even think they should be pardoned since neither of you actually died and Takeda has renounced the cause.”

Bristling, Viktor frowns, clasping his fingers in front of his face. “They want everyone pardoned?”

“Some do. I can tell you it isn't many.”

So nothing else, none of the pain, the suffering their actions have caused over the years counts as something noteworthy, apparently. Viktor finishes his coffee and pours another cup. “What appears to have the majority?” He's worried. Yuuri won't override the law and order execution, he knows, and neither will he pardon anyone involved. The very thought of exile leaves him disgusted, understandably, and he has expressed a desire to allow the courts to decide the case.

If the majority support something Yuuri wouldn't do, they could be looking at backlash if not outright revolt. The Akitsushiman people are out for blood, and with Yuuri going against portions of the nobility, the peoples' support is invaluable.

If he loses it, he could lose everything without the vast majority of the nobility firmly on his side, and it's a tenuous position he's in.

A tenuous position they're _both_ in.

“A majority seems to support His Majesty's respect for the judicial system, fortunately. His commitment to humility and the will of the people is serving him well.” She pulls a small stack of papers out of her bag, setting them on the table. “Unfortunately, sir, we are unsure of how much of a majority that is, and are keeping a close eye on public opinion.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Zlata nods, draining the last of her coffee. “Wardrobe has put together the outfits you’ll be wearing today, and will have them ready within the hour. For now, I'd like to go over today's itinerary with you.”

“Of course,” Viktor says, leaning back in his seat. “I'm ready.”

 

The photo shoot goes well. Viktor wears the National Team tracksuit he has, skates around and does a few moves and poses, and tries to ignore the aching in his chest, the pain that breathing becomes. It’s just a twinge; he’d done torso exercises recently, and it’s just his body trying to get through that.

Of course, pushing himself at Nationals likely hasn’t helped, if he thinks about it. Which he does his best not to, gingerly rubbing his chest as he heads home.

It’s taking longer than usual for the pain to subside, though, and Viktor makes a mental note to bring it up with his doctor if it continues.

 

~*~

 

Just stepping out of the shower, Viktor hears his phone ringing, the tone muffled through the closed door. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he slips his feet into his slippers and hurries out. It stops just before he reaches his nightstand. Picking the phone up, he sees two missed calls from Yuuri and mutters a curse under his breath as he calls him back.

The first ring hasn't even finished when the call connects, but instead of Yuuri's normal greeting it's quiet on the other end. Viktor waits a moment, in case Yuuri is finishing something up, but when more than thirty seconds have passed with not even a “one sec,” he gets suspicious.

“Yuuri? Lyubov?”

“It's been a year,” Yuuri whispers, voice thick around tears.

Viktor doesn't have to look at the date to know what Yuuri's talking about. It's been a year since he got home. A year since his father died and he took the throne and it must be hitting him hard.

“Oh, Lyubov,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed, “I'm so sorry.” It’s hard to believe that a year ago, Viktor had just been learning who Yuuri really was and what he’d gone through. “Is there going to be any sort of event?”

Sniffling, Yuuri makes a noise in the affirmative and clears his throat. “Not anything t-too big, but I’m going to be making a speech about my dad and stuff. We don’t really celebrate coronations, as a rule, but… On the one-year anniversary of their coronations monarchs are supposed to reflect on things or some shit. After the first year, we don't mark them. Not publicly.”

“Take some time for yourself, Lyubov? Please?”

“Yeah, I— Monarchs traditionally have the the anniversary of the coronation and the surrounding days free. Gives us time to visit the shrine and reflect on our rule and whatnot. Mari and my mom and I are going to watch some movies once I've done the speech. Spend time as a family.”

“Good to hear. Give them my love, will you?”

“Of course, Vityusha.”

Viktor hums happily. They spend a bit in comfortable silence, before Yuuri takes a breath.

“It's been a year since you found out,” he whispers.

“It has. It’s been a year since I decided to _stay,_ too.” There’s more silence on the other end. Softly, Viktor says, “I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad you did, too.” Yuuri takes a deep breath. “Really glad. I don’t know how I’d have made it through without you.”

“You’d have found a way, Lyubov,” Viktor says. “You’re strong.”

“Still, having you helped. Not that… not that that’s the only reason and such, I just…”

“Lyubov. I’m glad I was there for you.”

“My dad would have liked you, I think,” Yuuri whispers. “He loved having fun. He loved dogs and quiet meals with family and literature and soccer and… I don’t know, I just think you two would have gotten along really well. I think you had a lot in common.”

“I wish I could have met him.” He does. Everything he’s heard about the late king indicates Yuuri was telling the truth. Both Hiroko and Mari have said things along similar lines, and the pictures Viktor’s seen have only ever shown a man who seemed genuinely kind. In many of the more private photos and media, he looks downright fun to be around, and the fact that he’ll never know his father-in-law tugs at Viktor’s heart. “Maybe we could visit the shrine together sometime?”

Sleepy, Yuuri makes an affirmative noise. “That’d be nice.”

“Should I watch your speech later?”

“You’ll be at practice, but I’ll make sure you can,” Yuuri says. “My dad’s is on YouTube if you want to watch. I remember standing with him and watching as he spoke to everyone.”

“Do you remember what he said?” Viktor asks.

“Probably something about my grandfather. Something about his year as king. I don’t know; I was five, Vitya. I was paying more attention to the crowd and the guards and the cameras than what my dad was saying.”

“How long have you been going to speeches?”

“I dunno,” Yuuri says. “My whole life, I guess. My dad made a very short speech when I was born since I was the new Heir Apparent, and my mom was holding me. Then there was my Naming, when I was a few days old, and obviously since it was a ceremony for me I was there so. Yeah. When I was little it would have been only the most important speeches, but it became more frequent as I got older. Especially after I turned six.”

“What was important about six?”

“Dad thought I was old enough to start getting used to being in front of people and interacting with them instead of just being seen by them on occasion. I started learning how to play the part. Greet people, let people shake my hand… carefully-controlled interactions start young. There’s nothing significant about six as an age, but most royalty, at least in my family, starts taking on a bit more of a serious role around then.”

“Wow.”

Yuuri sighs. “I know it sounds… I mean, it… of course, everyone makes sure the kid is comfortable we don't just force them to do shit, but…”

“It's how it is,” Viktor offers. “I kind of get it. Like my moms with Katya.” He stands and goes to pull his pajamas out of the drawer.

“Yeah. Except if Katya was already well-known and was already expected to be in the public eye to some degree.”

“Makes sense. It’s good to know your dad watched out for you like that.”

“He did, yeah,” Yuuri says fondly. “He always used to say his first duty was to Mari and me, to keep this life from taking our childhoods. His next was to his country and people, and whatnot, but he always made it clear that we were his priority. Our comfort and safety came before the public’s desire to see us.”

Pulling his underwear on is hard while balancing the phone, but he manages. “You still had to perform though,” Viktor points out.

Yuuri huffs. “I mean. We were always in the public eye, but there’s a difference between taking your kid to school when you know the press will be taking pictures, and telling your kid they have to attend a three-hour memorial service for some official they don’t know, sitting onstage where the world can see them. The cameras were in our lives a lot more than most children, yes. We had to take pictures that would be released to the public more often, but still. That’s an hour or two, maybe three of our time where we’ve only got a photography crew nearby, versus the media and the public in-person.”

The explanation makes sense, and even if it didn’t, the frustration in Yuuri’s voice and the timing says he doesn’t want it pushed. Viktor hums in agreement. “That’s good of him.” Pulling his pants on and tying the drawstring, he puts the phone on speaker and sets it on his nightstand so he can put his shirt on.

After a moment to breathe, Yuuri sighs. “Yeah. He didn’t always make the best decisions, but he had a good heart and was a good father.”

“I can tell,” Viktor says. “You said you had plans with your family? Which movies are you watching?”

“A variety,” Yuuri answers, clearly glad about the change in topic. “Mari said she’d be having someone ask about a private viewing license for some new releases. I have a few I’ve been wanting to watch again, too.” He goes on to list them while Viktor brushes his teeth, including his reasoning and what he thinks his family’s reactions may be. By the time he finishes, Viktor’s crawling under the covers with a yawn.

Yuuri chuckles. “Should I let you sleep?”

“Probably,” Viktor murmurs. “I have a… tour thing. The Consulate for that dinner. The Ambassador is in from Moscow for the dinner and she wanted to let me familiarize myself with the venue a bit before I had to deal with people.”

“That’s nice of her. I’ve talked to her on the phone. She’s sweet, if a bit formal at times. Her people at the Embassy are the ones that dealt with the Russian Government after the attack and smoothed things over.” There’s a muffled knock in the background of the call, and Yuuri calls for whoever it is to come in. After a moment, he tells them he’ll be right out, and Viktor can hear the door close before Yuuri comes back on the line.

“Breakfast’ll be ready soon, we’re going to my mom’s rooms and having it there.”

“Nice and private?” Nuzzling into his pillow, with Makkachin’s reassuring weight on the blanket just next to him, Viktor feels sleep curling at the edges of consciousness.

“Yeah. Just the three of us. Nee-chan’ll be by for dinner, though, and I think she’ll be around tomorrow, too.”

“Mmm.” Eyes closed, blankets pleasantly warm, Viktor feels sleep coming for him and Yuuri laughs again.

“Go to sleep, Vitya. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Love you,” Viktor murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

 

~*~

 

Tires crunch on gravel as the car pulls into the Consulate. It's grand, and though the outside is relatively western, when he enters, Viktor sees the inside is distinctly Sachiman. Similar to the Palace's, it's almost comforting in its stately simplicity. A large portrait of Yuuri dominates the foyer, draped in green velvet. It's a photograph rather than a painted portrait like Viktor expects this long after Yuuri’s coronation. He pulls off his gloves, shoving them into the pocket of his coat before handing coat and scarf to a staff member to hang up.

“Mr. Nikiforov!” The Sachiman Ambassador walks into the room, bowing deeply before she approaches. Viktor holds out his hand and the Ambassador takes it and shakes. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir, welcome to the Consulate. I’m Fujie Maeda.”

“My pleasure as well,” Viktor responds smoothly. “His Majesty has spoken highly of you and your staff, Ambassador Maeda.”

“Kind words, sir,” she says, gesturing at the door. “It’s been many years since we’ve had the pleasure of entertaining a member of the Royal Family. It’s our distinct honor to welcome you here today, my lord, and we will endeavor to make your visit a pleasant one.”

“I'm sure it will be.” This dance of pleasantries is one Viktor's grown well used to in the last year. Where before he merely had to be nice, now it's with the added balance of the perfect mix of regal grace and humility. Now that he's spending most of his time with his rinkmates, it's easier for him to feel the shift between his royal and athlete personas. It’s comfortable enough by now that he’s not taken aback, but always interesting.

“I thought His Majesty would have commissioned a painting by now,” he muses, glancing up as they pass the portrait.

“His Royal Majesty has seen fit to postpone the commission until after the wedding, as the portraits would be re-done at that point anyway to include yourself, sir,” the Ambassador says.

_How considerate._ Viktor nods. As they walk through the building, Viktor is treated much like he is in Hasetsu. The guards lining the walls stand at attention, staff bows their heads when they see him, and everyone's on their absolute best behavior. He’s shown a stately formal dining room, a ballroom, and the facilities used by the government employees here.

Eventually he’s taken into a small dining room with a table low to the ground in the traditional style. The floor being made of soft tatami mats, Viktor removes his shoes so not to damage them. As the guest of honor, he sits furthest from the door and ignores the ache in his side as he kneels gracefully. Sake is brought, the attendant bowing as they enter the room. The tray is set next to the Ambassador, and she first pours the wine into one cup, picking it up and offering it to Viktor with both hands. Taking it he thanks her, and she pours her own.

Viktor sips his first. It’s warm and almost soothing, and he takes another sip as the door opens again. First, the entirety of the waitstaff enters, bowing towards Viktor, and the Head Chef steps forward.

“Mr. Nikiforov, I and my staff are honored to be serving you today. If there is anything we can do to make your experience more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to let us know.”

“Your service is much appreciated,” Viktor says, smiling, “and I look forward to the meal.”

The Head Chef bows again, turns, and gestures for the waitstaff to bring the food in. Several seafood entrees are served, steaming hot in the cool air, accompanied by vegetable and tofu dishes. Each of them are served a bowl of rice and hot soup, ceramic chopsticks and a small plate are laid before them, and aromatic green tea is set next to the Ambassador before all but one of the waitstaff leave.

As before, the Ambassador pours Viktor’s tea first, handing it to him before pouring her own. While they eat, she chats with him about the upcoming dinner. It will be relatively simple. Akitsushima’s emphasis on unity and cultural identity means the government holds dinners every year at Embassies and Consulates worldwide, inviting not only consular officers, but any celebrities, famous athletes and artists, prominent academics, or other notable citizens living in each region. This year, the celebration for those in Europe is being held in St. Petersburg at the Consulate here, and as Viktor is a member of the Royal Family living in the same city, his attendance is expected.

They move on after that. Fujie chats about what the Embassy and Consulates have been doing, the role they’ve played with helping their citizens abroad. The longer she talks, the more Viktor’s chest starts to ache. It shouldn’t be doing this; he’s long been able to kneel comfortably at the dinner table in Hasetsu. Of course, in the private dining room he’s allowed more lax posture and the ability to move around and sit comfortably, rather than staying in one position for the duration of the meal.

By the time he’s walking back out, it’s all he can do to keep the smile on his face and his tone light. Yulian and Sofia meet him in the foyer. Sofia isn’t nearly as used to Viktor as Yulian, despite having worked with him for several months, so it’s no surprise Yulian is the only one looking somewhat concerned. Viktor meets his gaze and shakes his head. Yulian merely closes his eyes and redirects his attention elsewhere.

The Sachiman Ambassador shakes Viktor’s hand again, bowing at the neck, and thanks him for meeting with her. In turn, he thanks her once again for inviting him and being considerate with regards to his familiarity with the venue.

In the car, Yulian silently holds out the painkillers Viktor carries with him, followed promptly by a bottle of water. “Shall I call Mr. Feltsman about practice tomorrow?” he asks as Viktor takes them.

Viktor looks out the window and shakes his head. “No, it was just sitting still for so long that got me. I’ll be okay after I’ve rested.”

Dutifully, Yulian nods, sitting back in his seat.

 

~*~

 

The ice is smooth underfoot, freshly-sharpened blades gliding easily across the surface. Crossing his arm in front of his chest, Viktor stretches in anticipation. Not too hard, he doesn’t want to exacerbate his ribs again, but enough to feel satisfying. He swings by the boards where he’s set his coffee, picking it up and taking a large sip as he looks out across the rink. Yuri’s on the other side, leaning against the boards as he does something on his phone. Georgi and Mila are going back and forth about something or other, the topic had changed five times before Viktor managed to tune them out and it’s impossible to guess what it might be now.

Draining the dregs of his coffee, Viktor frowns at the cup, almost willing it to refill itself. It doesn’t, and with a practiced arm he throws it into a nearby trash can. Taking a deep breath, he stops suddenly as his chest muscles twinge.

He'll have to take it easy today. He sighs. In all honesty, he should take the day off but it's been getting harder and harder to keep to his schedule and he's already missed practice once this week on top of the one he missed in favor of touring the Consulate a few days ago. Readjusting his brace, he pushes away from the boards. By the time Yakov comes out of his office, Viktor's skating laps, running through an alternate transition for one of his step sequences. It's more complicated for sure, but adds a nice bit of flair and definitely ups the base value of his program.

“Vitya!” Yakov waves him over.

“What is it?” Viktor asks when he approaches.

“You look stiff. Should you be skating?”

“I slept wrong, I think.” Viktor rubs the side of his chest. “Maybe a half practice.” Hopefully Yakov won't question things.

Raising an eyebrow, Yakov runs his eyes up Viktor's body, assessing him. “Alright. Run through your programs. Mark your jumps, don't actually do them.”

He isn't fooled. Viktor knows he's getting off easy, Yakov isn't having him get off the ice like he’s done in the past.

“Alright.” Hands on his waist, Viktor skates to the far end of the rink. Rolling his shoulders hurts more than it should and he bites back a hiss. It's a half practice, and if he doesn't use his arms more than he has to, he should be alright.

He isn't.

Not two hours in, he's stumbled twice and narrowly missed several collisions, and he's just going into a half-attempt at an Ina Bauer when agony lances through him. It pulls him straight out of his routine, causes him to stumble and then fall, skidding until he hits the boards.

“Vitya, what the hell is going on?”

Yakov skates over while Viktor tries to catch his breath, on his knees as he leans against the boards. His chest hurts. Badly. It’s a pain so intense as to be nauseating and he gasps quietly in an attempt not to throw up.

“Water,” he chokes.

“Vitya, what—”

_“Please.”_

With a nod, Yakov skates away.

“Mr. Nikiforov, is something wrong?” Yuilan’s voice comes from above Viktor, he’s probably leaning against the boards.

“My chest. Painkillers. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

By the time Yakov’s back with water and Yulian’s running over with the pills, the brunt of the nausea’s passed and Viktor’s gotten himself to standing. He takes the medication, downing a few extra gulps of water. Almost immediately after meeting Yakov’s eyes, Viktor looks down.

“Go home, Vitya,” Yakov says. “Go home. Rest. Come back in three days with a doctor’s assessment clearing you to train.”

“What?” Viktor’s heart sinks. “Yakov, Euros is in two weeks, I can’t afford to take a break like that.”

“You can’t afford to _overtrain,_ which is what you’ve been doing, you _foolish_ boy. Go. Home.”

In a sudden rush, everything makes sense and Viktor wonders how it took nearly throwing up in the middle of practice to figure it out. Not that it had even been him who’d figured it out. Yakov, for all his gruff demeanor, is a good coach when it comes down to it. Viktor’s not the first athlete he’s had overtrain and likely won’t be the last. He’s seen this before.

Viktor feels a hand on his back, Georgi having skated up next to him. “Do you need help off the ice?”

Looking around the complex, Viktor sees everyone’s eyes on him, but at this point there’s no reason to try to save face. He nods, grateful when Georgi slots himself under Viktor’s right arm, opposite the site of the breaks.

By the time they make it to the locker room, Viktor’s swimming in self-doubt and regret and anger and he can feel tears making their way down his face. As careful as he’d been, as frequently as he’d gone to checkups, it had slipped under the radar and now, as he assesses himself, he feels surety slip from his grasp. Recovering in time to make sure Euro’s goes well is unlikely at best. Two weeks away, the competition is demanding, taking the best skaters from across the continent and pitting them against each other. Viktor’s place in the competition itself is secured.

His place on the podium, however, is looking increasingly out of reach and for the first time in years, he’s almost scared. Georgi helps with his skates, handing each to Viktor to dry off before he puts the soft guards on.

“How could I have been so stupid?” he whispers, staring at his hands.

“Overtraining is easy to miss,” Georgi says, sitting next to him. “It happens to athletes across all disciplines, you know this.”

“I’ve been so careful,” Viktor replies. “I’ve… even my medical staff hasn’t noticed anything.”

“It’s still early,” Georgi says, “and you’re recovering from injuries. Telling the difference can be hard. It’s… Vitya, you still have a chance at finishing the season alright if you want.”

“I have a _reputation,”_ he says. “Gosha, I… I _can’t_ fail. Not here.”

“You won't win every competition.”

“I'll be surprised if I make it to the podium, honestly.”

Georgi sighs. “It’s not about the podium.”

“I have two countries looking to me to make them proud,” Viktor mutters. _“Two._ Even if I don’t personally care whether or not I win, it’s _definitely_ about the podium. After Nationals, it’s _expected.”_

Pensive, Georgi looks at him. He doesn’t entirely understand, Viktor knows. He’s never carried Russia’s reputation on his shoulders in the same way, has never had the entire country celebrating his wins.

But he’s seen Viktor’s career more intimately perhaps than anyone else aside from his coaches. He’s seen the rise of the National Hero with all of the bumps and obstacles along the way. He’s seen Viktor’s recovery before, his first season in seniors, and was there, silently, stalwartly supporting him the entire time. He’s seen Viktor’s struggles, and while they’d grown distant, he’d never been absent. Maybe he knows more than he lets on.

Wiping his eyes, Viktor sighs and lets his shoulders slump. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all you _can_ do, and your best is good enough.”

“It’s going to have to be.”

 

~*~

 

“And remember, sir, you are the highest status person here,” his assistant says as St. Petersburg flies by outside the windows of the limousine. “You should expect and _accept_ being deferred to. You can't do the same thing as the house, insisting propriety be dropped as much as possible.”

“I am aware of when I can and can't drop propriety.”

“Of course, sir.” Zlata smooths her pencil skirt.

Though it's a black tie event, Viktor is still decked out in his medals and Yuuri's golden collar underneath the coat he’s wearing. His role goes beyond just showing up; he's supposed to commend everyone about their work, to show the Crown's appreciation for the esteem they bring to the country. It's the first time he's acted in a purely royal capacity at an event without Yuuri. His career has no bearing here as it does with many of the Russian officials he's met. Now decorated, the Consulate stands gleaming in the night, illuminated from all sides. Glittering in the light, the snow only adds to the effect. They pull up to the front staircase, lined with guards, and Viktor waits for the driver to open the door.

His peacoat, hat, scarf, and gloves are taken in the foyer, before he's lead to the reception room. Much like in Hasetsu, the guards along his route snap to attention. Head held high, Viktor walks with his escort, giving the occasional nod to guards and staff as he passes.

Approaching the door, he’s stopped by someone looking him over to make sure everything’s in place. With a smile, they nod, bowing as they back away. It’s then that the doors are opened, and a member of the staff walks in to announce Viktor.

“Mr. Viktor Nikiforov, Hero of the Russian Federation and Fiancé of His Royal Majesty King Yuuri of Akitsushima,” the man shouts. It’s strange, hearing his announcement without Yuuri’s at an event like this, but still, he smiles as he makes his entrance. The room is at a standstill, the people within all facing Viktor, bowing at the waist as he reaches the bottom of the small staircase.

Ambassador Maeda approaches, bowing with a flourish. “Mr. Nikiforov, welcome,” she says. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes, for now would you like me to introduce you to a few people?”

The expected answer is yes, so that’s the one Viktor gives. Smiling, she nods and gestures for him to follow her. Their first stop is a group of people, where Fujie pulls a man aside.

“Mr. Nikiforov, this is Makoto Watanabe, the Consular Officer here in St. Petersburg. If for some reason you need to work with the Consulate directly rather than through a liaison, he will be the man with whom you meet.”

The man bows, holding it for a moment before rising and taking Viktor’s offered hand. “It’s a pleasure,” Viktor says. “Thank you for your time in His Majesty’s service.”

“It’s my honor,” Makoto says, “and an honor to finally meet you, my lord. I wish to extend my congratulations to yourself and His Royal Majesty on your engagement.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to pass your message on,” Viktor replies, smiling.

“When can we expect the wedding? If it’s not too presumptuous,” he asks.

“Not for a while, still,” Viktor answers. “I’m currently focused on my career, and His Majesty is occupied with the investigations and his regular duties. It will likely be in early summer.”

“A good time for a wedding, sir!” Laughing, the man glances around before looking back. “I truly wish you both the best.”

“Thank you.” The Ambassador moves into his line of sight again.

“Sir,” she says, “I’m honored to introduce Haruka Sato, she’s an actress currently filming in Madrid.”

Haruka curtsies, head bowed, and takes Viktor’s hand when he offers it. “It’s my pleasure,” he says. “I’ve seen some of your work, it’s incredible. You’re doing your nation proud.”

Blushing, she nods. “Thank you, sir. It's an honor.”

Soon enough, he's being taken from person to person. After each introduction, Fujie elaborating briefly on notable accomplishments, the attendee bows, shakes his hand, and thanks him for kind words and even his very presence. One person goes so far as to express, almost tearfully, how grateful they are than Yuuri is the new monarch and working so hard to improve things. A few people give the bare minimum of deference, though Viktor doesn't know if he's supposed to be offended or just accept what respect is given, but he keeps smiling, shakes everyone's hands, and thanks them on behalf of the Crown.

He's often been on the receiving end of talks like this, especially at Russian events involving government officials, but hadn't expected to be on the giving end. It's as monotonous as he thought it would be. He finds himself struggling to make his praise sound genuine, but a choice question or two about their work offers him the chance to switch things up and allow them to elaborate.

 

Dinner is less robotic, and instead of finding a hundred different ways to say the same thing, he's allowed to engage in conversation. He's seated at the head of the table, in the chair that would be Yuuri's were he here. Viktor is the first to sit, but only by virtue of the fact that when everyone files in, he's first in line. All eyes are on him regardless.

As he makes his way through each course, he makes small talk with those seated near him. The Palace does its utmost to ensure people seated nearby share a common language, but while Viktor's Japanese is still lacking, his neighbors speak French, and conversation goes smoothly. Despite the initial awkwardness people have when talking to anyone from the Royal Family, they soon get into the swing of things.

Viktor asks about their work, listens to stories and anecdotes and makes what commentary he can. Sometimes he comes back with a story of own, or answers the odd question, but it seems no one wants to press too much in the wrong spot, or demand information to which they have no right. It isn’t until dessert that anyone ventures a question, and it’s a prominent physicist normally based in Paris.

“Mr. Nikiforov, if I may ask, do you intend to skate for Russia or Akitsushima after the wedding?”

It’s not a surprising turn in conversation, they’d been discussing athletics and, in particular, the Olympics. Viktor sips the sweet plum wine served with dessert. “I have yet to decide if I will continue in competition. Once I've decided, we'll figure out the details.”

He knows this is his last season. When he's not in competition, he won't need to choose and once again he's glad he and Yuuri were both in agreement about not marrying before the end of the season. He's glad, too, that Yuuri respects his career and what it means to both Viktor and the people of Russia enough to insist that he be allowed to work unhindered by the Palace. He's not entirely out from under its thumb, but he enjoys decidedly more freedom than anyone else in the Royal Family.

It's not long before the familiar ache is back, curling around Viktor's lungs as he tries to keep good posture and breathe. His discomfort goes unnoticed, thankfully. He drinks the wine he's brought, makes conversation until dinner comes to an end, and calls Zlata over once he has a moment, just before reaching the reception room. She gives him the painkiller he asks for, procuring a cup of water from somewhere, and once he's taken it, he takes a moment to breathe.

“Mr. Nikiforov, should you need to leave that can be arranged,” she says.

“I'll be fine.” He's not sure Zlata believes him but she doesn't really have the option to argue with him, especially not here. Sighing, he looks at her. “I'll rest after, I can get through this last bit.”

“Of course, sir,” she says, bowing her head.

Adjusting his waistcoat he takes another breath, as deep as he can and turns towards the door, gesturing for the staff to open it.

 

~*~

 

Unsurprisingly, there’s press to do when he arrives in Italy for Euros. It’s been a while since he was here for the Olympics. Torino’s only vaguely familiar, but holds good memories he smiles as the plane touches down on the tarmac. He’s spared dealing with the media at the airport on his arrival, but once he and his rinkmates are in the limousine, his assistant pulls up a document on her tablet.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “we ought to go over press responses for the arrival at the hotel.”

Viktor glances at the other occupants in the limo, but nods.

“As far as what you’re permitted to say, I—”

Yuri looks angrily between Viktor and his assistant. _“Permitted?!_ What the _fuck?_ Y—”

“Shut up, Yura,” Viktor bites, before gesturing for Zlata to go on.

She nods in thanks. “As far as what you’re permitted to say, sir, the Palace has made no significant changes. They do ask that many of your responses here focus on the competition and your career, however, they understand that the press tends to get a bit carried away.”

“Understood,” Viktor says. ‘A bit carried away’ is an understatement, the press has always pried into his life and now their curiosity has grown ravenous.

“Vitya,” Yakov says, “you can still pull out of the competition if you don’t feel you can skate.”

Frowning, Viktor looks at his coach. On the one hand, Yakov is right. It’d be better to announce it on arrival rather than pulling out last-minute. On the other, Viktor’s almost insulted. Repeatedly, he’s made his wishes to compete clear. Sure, he’s still in pain, and he’s had to take it easy since they’d figured out what was going on, but he doesn't _want_ to withdraw.

Though part of him does. He knows it’s unlikely he’ll take gold, and there’s a very real chance that he may not make the podium at all, depending on how his skates go. Over the last couple of weeks he’s been cautious, taking things slowly and being careful to the point of having medical staff supervise his practices. In his most recent meeting with the doctors, they cleared him to skate and said they’d be informing medical staff at the venue so they know to watch out.

“I’m going to skate,” Viktor says, adjusting his gloves. “Unless my doctors tell me not to, I’m going to skate.”

Yakov huffs, leaning back in his seat. He’s obviously not thrilled by Viktor’s course of action, but he knows how stubborn Viktor can get.

 

As expected, when they pull up in front of the hotel their arrival is heralded by flashing cameras and a crowd. Longing for the days when he could just go places without fanfare, Viktor waits until the door is opened before stepping out. Standing, he gives the press a few moments to get pictures before allowing himself to be shuttled closer. The press does their best to shout over each other as he draws near, and he can see reporters eyeing his bodyguards. Hopefully, they’ll behave; there’s no need for another fiasco like last year.

“Mr. Nikiforov, there are rumors that recent practices haven’t gone so well, can you elaborate?”

Internally, Viktor lets out a sigh, but he makes sure his smile stays glued to his face. “Recovery from injury isn’t a linear process,” he says. “Slight complications have made it necessary for me to train more carefully than I have in the past.”

“What sort of complications?”

“That’s between myself and my coaches and medical staff,” he bites.

A different microphone is pushed towards him. “Do you expect to podium?”

“I certainly hope to,” he says, “but competitions can be unpredictable! I expect to give it my best, and hopefully that will be good enough.”

“There are rumors,” a different reporter says, “that you’ll be skating for Sachima next year instead of Russia, are there any truth to them?”

“I’ll refrain from commenting about next season until after Worlds,” he replies, though he knows full well he’s retiring. “I like to focus on the season at hand before making plans for the future.” He can hear his rinkmates fielding a few questions around him, but the majority of the press seems to be focused on Viktor. Naturally.

“How much does His Majesty understand about your career? Does he watch your programs?”

Viktor looks towards the source of the unusual questions to see a younger woman holding a notepad. She looks new to journalism and he smiles. “His Majesty is actually quite a good figure skater himself! He understands much of the technical parts of skating and basic scoring, so he follows it easily. As for your second question, unless he has a pressing matter to deal with, my fiancé watches my programs live.”

“Has he ever seen you compete in person?”

Nodding, Viktor grins. “He has! He attended Russian Nationals in secret last year, and watched both programs from the boards!”

Another reporter moves closer to get in on the questioning. “Are there any plans for the King of Sachima to see you in person _again?”_ Yuuri’s mentioned something about trying to attend Worlds, but it’s still up in the air as far as Viktor knows. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say it’s unlikely, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping.

“For security reasons, I’m unable to comment on His Majesty’s future plans, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” is the reply.

“You’re up against some of the most accomplished skaters in Europe aside from yourself. After your win at Russian Nationals, how do you feel about your chances here? Any words for your competitors?”

Viktor looks at the reporter that asked, an older man that certainly knows he’s just rephrasing an earlier question to try to eke an answer out. Narrowing his eyes, Viktor lets his smile fall. “Again, I hope my best is good enough for the podium, and I look forward to competing with such accomplished athletes.” The negativity and insult-throwing that, at times, comes with athletic competitions has always grated on Viktor, and he’s promised himself he’d never take part. Obviously the press either hasn’t realized or doesn’t care.

“Vitya,” Yakov says, coming up next to him, “let’s go. You can do more press later.” Nodding, Viktor flashes a grateful smile and turns back to the press.

“That’s all I can answer for now,” he chirps, “thank you!” Part of him wants to thank them for not being assholes this time around, but that likely wouldn’t go over well with either the press or the Palace, so he refrains, instead waving as he lets Yakov lead him inside.

The lobby is far calmer than the outside. Security is keeping reporters outside, in order to provide a sort of refuge for the athletes staying on the premises. Part of Viktor’s relatively sure the Palace has something to do with it as well, seeing as how he’s been interviewed in hotel lobbies before. As usual, his luggage has been taken up to the suite he’s occupying and his assistant takes care of ordering food for them to eat while Yakov goes through his pre-competition talks.

Near the elevator is a small group of people, other skaters and their coaches along with some regular guests. Addressing the crowd, Viktor lifts his hand in a brief wave, smiling, and sees a mop of blond hair making its way through the crowd.

“Vitya!” Chris calls, pushing through the crowd.

Putting his best grin on, Viktor waves a bit more enthusiastically. “Chris! How are things?”

“You know, they’re happening,” Chris says, glancing over Viktor’s shoulder. “Are all of them bodyguards?”

Presumably, he’s asking about the staff accompanying Viktor. Viktor shakes his head. “No, I have a couple of assistants with me.”

“What for?”

He shrugs. “One to keep track of things, another to _help_ keep track of things and deal with PR if necessary.”

“Is this normal?”

“It is now,” Viktor replies. “I heard about your win at Swiss Nationals, congratulations!”

“I beat my personal best,” Chris says with a grin. “Who knows, I might even be good enough to finally beat _you,_ now!” He laughs. As much as the comment stings, Viktor manages a chuckle.

“You just might,” he says. It doesn’t come out as jokingly as he hopes and Chris looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, but before he has the chance to say something else, Zlata approaches.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she says, “Mr. Feltsman and the others are ready to go upstairs, and the food will be arriving in a few minutes. I have your room keys and documentation.” It’s clear she’s telling him it’s time to move on, and he nods, looking back at his competitor.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the short program,” he says, voice deceptively lighthearted.

Chris nods, though he seems to be somewhat lost in thought. “I’ll see you then.”

The elevator dings, and Viktor is ushered in.

 

~*~

 

Adjusting his wrist brace, Viktor watches as the skater before him finishes his routine. Practice earlier hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped it would. Judging by social media, the pain he was in noticeably affected his performance, and there’s all sorts of speculation running rampant. Much of it about his injuries flaring up which, if he’s really honest, is only speculation because it’s not been officially confirmed. Gingerly, he does a few final stretches as the other skater makes his way off the ice. The painkillers he took earlier are working, thankfully, though he knows by the end of this routine he’ll feel differently. Talking with his doctors this morning, they’d cautioned him to be careful, but still cleared him to skate his program.

Once the sweepers are done clearing the ice, Viktor hands his jacket over to Yakov, phone included, and sighs.

“Vitya…”

“I’m fine, Yakov,” he says as he steps into the rink.

Yakov grunts, waving him through the gap in the boards as his name is announced.

The usual laps around the ice go well. He waves to the crowd with his right arm, tries to with his left, and manages, to a degree, but the greeting feels different. It’s harder to get into the right mindset, harder to let himself fall into eros like he needs. Closing his eyes as he draws closer to the center of the rink, he sighs, bringing his right hand up to his mouth so he can kiss his ring. Eros. For Yuuri. Skate for Yuuri. He takes opening position, and the music rings through the arena.

The start is strong, he can feel the flow of the music in his bones as he moves, and once he’s going, it’s easier to fall into it. The first step sequence works well enough, he nails it to raucous applause and he grins. His blades cut severe lines into the ice as he twists and turns his way across the rink. Performing the moves is relatively easy, muscle memory is helping immensely, especially with the jumps and he knows he’s skating a technically sound program. It’s the fluidity that’s the problem. Throbbing pain in his chest is making his muscles seize up, making the energy he needs increasingly harder to attain.

After barely landing a triple axel, he can hear the crowd’s noises of confusion and disbelief. He’s known for his jumps, he prides himself on them, and now…

Skating backward, he sets himself up for a combo. Though he manages to land it perfectly, a pain lances up his side, leaving him gasping as he goes into another step sequence. The stiffness is unmistakable now, there’s absolutely no way he’s getting the right feeling through and he grits his teeth. Another jump. The crack of his blade on the ice is relieving, the ache in his ribs dulled by adrenaline and sheer stubbornness on Viktor’s part. Pushing everything he has into his skating, he does the last few moves, going into the final spin and ending, flushed and panting and near-blinded by the bright lights of the arena, with his arms wrapped around himself, his right hand subtly gripping his side.

There’s a moment of silence before the cheering and applause starts, but they’re not the same as usual. Within the support there’s an undercurrent of trepidation, the feeling that the crowd isn’t sure what happened and doesn’t know what that means for the free skate. He hasn’t skated this badly in a while, and after shallow bows in each direction, he moves to go to the Kiss and Cry.

“What the fuck was _that?”_ Yuri asks as Viktor passes.

“Technically sound,” Viktor retorts, jamming his skate guards onto his blades. It’s true, besides the one near-flub, he skated well. It’s his PCS that he’s worried about. Portraying raw sensuality is hard enough when movement itself isn’t an issue, and Yakov’s silence as they walk is telling.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” Yakov says as they sit. Otherwise, there’s no lecture and Viktor lets his Team Russia jacket be draped over his shoulders by Lilia. Throat thick, he waits in silence for his scores.

He’s in first, but by a very slim margin. Slimmer than it’s been in years. He’ll have to skate better for the free if he wants to take gold, but he knows that’s going to be hard.

_It could be worse,_ he reminds himself. _At least he wasn’t carried off the ice._

 

“Mr. Nikiforov, today’s score is far lower than your usual, any comment?”

Viktor sighs. The post-short press conference has dragged on longer than he wants it to, though it’s nowhere near the longest he’s attended, and he leans forward, grateful for the painkillers he’d taken immediately upon arriving in the locker room.

“I’d like to remind the press that I’m still healing from my injuries. For those who’ve forgotten, that’s a broken wrist,” he says, holding up the hand in the brace, “and not one, but _two_ broken ribs. The ribs are _especially_ important when skating.”

Maybe the painkillers are working better than he’d expected. Glancing to the side, he sees Zlata watching with a frown and she shakes her head subtly. He needs to keep it together for this. Watch how he speaks. He looks back at the crowd. “Like I said on arrival, there have been some complications, and the movements that comprise much of the program for _On Love: Eros_ exacerbated the injuries. I believe the lack of fluidity in the routine as I performed it lead to a lower PCS than I would have had, had I not been in pain.”

“Will you be withdrawing from this competition?”

Though he probably should, Viktor’s not one to do things by halves. “I hope to skate my free program,” he says, “and will be consulting with my medical staff tomorrow morning. Should they advise me to withdraw, I’ll consider that course of action, but until I’ve made my decision I won’t make any definite statements.” It’s clear people want to pry, but no one does. Instead, they move on. Viktor sighs, takes a drink from the water bottle he has next to him and rubs his ribs under his jacket.

 

~*~

 

“Wait, you’re not practicing?” Yuri sets his fork down, looking over. “You’re not coming with us?”

Finishing the bite of salad he’s chewing, Viktor shakes his head. “I’ll go with you guys, but my doctors said not to practice today and to do the minimum tomorrow before the free skate.”

“Sir, you also have press to do,” Zlata says from the couch, where she’s running through the day’s itinerary while they finish eating lunch.

“That, too,” Viktor says. “I’m being—”

“Sir,” Yulian says as he walks into the room, holding Viktor’s phone, “I apologize for interrupting, but His Majesty The King is calling you.”

The few staff members present look over, watching as Viktor takes the phone and answers it.

“One sec,” he says, grateful when Yuuri makes a noise of agreement. Standing, he makes his way to the suite’s bedroom, closing the door for privacy. “Yeah?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, breathless, “did you know this was going to happen?”

“What?”

“Have you seen your texts?”

“No, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning and didn’t want to deal with all of the comments about yesterday’s perfo—”

“It has nothing to do with the performance,” Yuuri says. “Vitya when I woke up I had sixteen thousand notifications. Sixteen _thousand_ between twitter, Instagram, and my email.” He sounds vaguely panicked, and Viktor takes a glance at his own notifications.

The number is fairly close, and he opens twitter with trepidation before his eyes widen and he bursts into laughter, putting the phone back to his ear.

“Are you _laughing?_ Vitya! That— that comment you made about me being a good figure skater has blown up! People are asking for video!! There’s a _hashtag_ for fuck’s sake!!”

“I see it,” Viktor replies, barely containing his amusement. “#TheKingIsASkater?!”

_“Yeah._ If you’re wondering if Phichit started it, the answer is ‘most likely,’ but—” He stops talking as Viktor laughs again, loud and mirthful and worth every bit of pain in his ribs. “Vitya!! Why are you still laughing? This has gone _viral!”_

“There are far worse ways to go viral, Lyubov,” he chuckles. _“This_ is just funny. Everyone wants to see you skate! How many other monarchs can say they figure skate that well?”

“Minami-san, the kid from the school we visited with red hair, confirmed in an interview that you said I could skate Stammi Vicino. Vitya, they’ve started _petitions_ for video.”

“So release a video, I’m sure one of the ones Phichit or I took would be suitable. Phichit could put out that picture of you sleeping against the boards, too.”

“You’re having too much fun with this,” Yuuri mutters.

“Is it actually upsetting you?”

There’s a long pause as Yuuri thinks, before he sighs. “No, I’m just… It’s _weird.”_

“This sort of thing can be weird, yeah,” Viktor agrees. “It makes sense you wouldn’t be used to this stuff, most of what you’ve experienced are the tabloids, as far as situations like this go. Honestly, have as much fun as you can with it. Release video if you’re comfortable with that.”

“It’s not a matter of whether or not _I_ am, it’s—”

“The _Palace,_ I know. Have what fun you can, this is harmless.”

“You really think I should release video?”

“If you can find or take something that works, sure!”

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri murmurs. “Maybe I’ll start with a few pictures. I’ll look in that shared Drive folder you guys set up a while back, send me the link?”

“Will do. That sounds like a good idea. You could go to the rink and have pictures taken, too.”

“Mhmm.” Yuuri lets out a long sigh. “Sorry about all this, I kind of saw all the notifications and I panicked.”

“You’re fine, Lyubov,” Viktor says. “I had a ‘first viral incident’ too; I know the feeling.”

Laughing, Yuuri does something that makes a clicking sound on the other end. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too. Feeling better?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am, actually. I’d rather this than another fiasco any day. Thanks.”

“Any time, Lyubov.”

The call ends, and Viktor pulls up twitter again as he walks back to the table, scrolling through his mentions. Full of requests for confirmation, for pictures and video, he sighs. He’ll have to check with Yuuri and the Palace before responding to anything, and it’ll be the same on Instagram. Taking his seat once more, he turns his phone off and sets it down.

“Sorry about that,” he laughs. “Yuuri was letting me know we were trending on twitter. Where were we?”

Yuri shrugs, picking at a piece of lettuce.

“You’d just mentioned doing press, sir,” Zlata provides. “At the arena. The questions the Palace is permitting are highly restricted, but they’ve said that if need be, you can talk about your life with His Majesty to keep people from focusing too hard on yesterday’s performance.”

“Did Yuuri say something to them?”

She shrugs. “There’s no saying whether His Majesty had a hand in things. However, the PR Department does understand that if allowed to fixate, the press could blow this out of proportion.”

“That’s one way to put it. How’s press response to yesterday?” He digs into his salad again.

“For now, speculation. Wondering how tomorrow will go. I’m sure your absence at practice will also be noticed.”

“That tends to happen.” Viktor sighs. “It is what it is. I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes, if you could let everyone know.”

“Of course, sir,” she says.

Metal clacks on ceramic as Yuri drops his fork in his bowl and shoves the remnants of his lunch away. “I’m going downstairs,” he mutters, grabbing his thing and walking out of the suite. Frowning, Viktor looks at his coach and Yakov shrugs, going back to his newspaper and coffee.

 

~*~

 

Watching his competitors practice from the boards, Viktor somehow feels more isolated than ever. It’s hard not to let his thoughts dip into blame, not to feel angry with himself for putting himself in this sort of position. He should be out there.

Except, he shouldn’t. He’s going to have to be strict with himself, to follow his doctors’ orders and make sure he’s careful if he wants to do well at Worlds. It’s the hardest lesson he’s had to learn over the years of competition— how to curb his drive for perfection in favor of his health. Euros isn’t entirely a lost cause, though it may as well be, but he still has a chance for a comeback.

If he plays his cards right and does what he’s supposed to.

On the way in, after he’d kept the press at arms length and reiterated his “there are complications but I’m going to do my best” comments from previous interviews, Viktor had meandered through the arena and taken his time getting to the ice in order to avoid his competitors and _their_ prying, and it’s for the same reason that he leaves early now. Practice will end in a few minutes. To avoid unpleasant conversation, especially with Chris, who’s been eyeing Viktor the entire time, he needs to be where they can’t get to him. Yakov catches his arm on the way out, looking him in the eye.

“You’re not getting your skates.”

Shrugging him off, Viktor pulls away. “I was going to the car, I don’t need to—” he glances back at the rink, and then at his coach again. “I don’t need to deal with their questions, too.”

Yakov’s expression softens, just barely, and he waves Viktor off. “We’ll meet you there.”

On the way out, Viktor’s increasingly grateful for the intimidating nature of his bodyguards as the very few skaters and coaches he pass give him a wide berth. They stare, for sure, and it’s hard to ignore the way their gazes make Viktor’s neck crawl, but he’s not approached as he walks out. Avoiding the press is just as easy; his bodyguards have routes to and from the car planned out that avoid contact with almost anyone Viktor doesn’t _actively_ want contact with.

Which, at this point, is pretty much everyone.

 

~*~

 

Crowds pack the arena the next afternoon, lining the path in. Unlike the day before, it’s almost impossible to avoid them. Images flash through Viktor’s mind of the last European Championships, he can almost feel the crowd surging against him, grabbing at him, and he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. They can’t get to him now. They can’t treat him like an object to be manhandled and tossed back and forth and pressed for information they don’t need.

Walking through the flashing of cameras is familiar. Viktor puts a smile on his face, waves to people as he walks in. There’s a different energy about today. Though his last performance wasn’t an absolute disaster, it was far below his usual standards and that’s clear to them. Anticipation thrums through the crowd, an undercurrent that’s impossible to ignore. Everyone wants to see how this is going to play out, and considering Viktor woke up sore, he’s sure it’ll be more akin to watching a wreck than a triumphant comeback. Regardless of expected outcome, though, Viktor knows he’s going to skate his best. His audience deserves that much, and so does he.

 

As his doctors and Yakov instructed, he takes it easy at the pre-skate practice. The brace is secure on his arm, the painkillers he took working as expected, and after his initial, small waves at the crowd, he focuses in on himself and carefully does what moves he’s allowed. Once he’s done there, he retreats to a quiet corner in the competitor’s area. He should be doing his best to stay warmed up, but Yakov tells him to rest while the first few skaters take their turns. Viktor will be skating last, so he has some time.

Medical staff checks in on him, asks him a few questions about his pain levels and his breathing. Despite wanting to lie, he answers honestly. The pain’s there, though not as bad as it’s been recently, but he can breathe without too much issue and that satisfies them. He’s permitted to skate his free program, and if that goes well they may let him skate the exhibition tomorrow evening.

Headphones on, he takes a moment to listen to his free skate music, to get into the right headspace for his performance. It’s almost elation he feels, listening to the song about his love. He lets his mind wander to Yuuri, to their life together so far and the life they hope to build in the future, after the trial is over and done and they’re finally given space to just _be._

The second time he listens to the song, he stands, does some of the choreography. It doesn’t hurt as much as he’d thought it would when he raises his arms, sweeps them out and to the sides like he will when he performs. Some footwork down the hallway has him feeling better, too. He knows this music, this routine, and he can skate it in his sleep, and some measure of confidence grows in him. Only one major error had tarnished his short program aside from the low pcs, and if he can do well, he has a shot at the gold, still, narrow though his lead is.

Before long, Yakov appears.

“Yura’s finished,” he says. “Still has nerves, I’ll be surprised if he places above Giacometti this time around.”

Viktor nods. Yuri’s success at the Grand Prix Final was incredible, to be sure, but still. He’s fifteen and still inexperienced in competing in seniors. After he finishes the step sequence he was marking, Viktor follows his coach to the boards in silence. Yakov’s not stupid, he knows Viktor’s going to struggle regardless, but his stalwart support is as comforting as ever.

 

Chris exits the ice to roaring cheers amidst a rain of roses. With a flower crown on his head and a few winks at the crowd, he has them almost swooning as he makes his way to the Kiss and Cry. Viktor takes a deep breath, centering himself. He doesn’t listen to Chris’s score, he doesn’t listen to whatever Yakov’s telling Yuri, he just takes a moment to get himself into the right place to perform. His jacket is handed to Yakov, his hard guards following, and he takes to the ice once it’s cleared.

The audience receives him well, cheers echo through the arena as he waves. Glad to see him skating, the crowd waves Russian flags, banners with Viktor’s name and face on them and he grins. He’s always loved performances, and he does a few laps, greets everyone with his trademark flourish and a wink before he goes to the center, kissing the golden ring on his finger before taking his opening position.

Light, airy piano notes fill the space around him as Viktor starts his routine, moving into the music. As far as the broad arm movements go, he’s doing well, capturing the feelings he wants with grace. Falling into the music, Viktor lets himself get absorbed, to swirl his way across the cold ice with a warmth in his heart, his movements, his expression that screams his love for his fiancé. His first combination jump goes well and his smile grows.

He just might do this.

As he skates, he starts to put more into it, opening his arms just a bit wider, letting his movements be more dynamic. Jumps go well, he lands a quad flip to enthusiastic applause and the short bit of choreography following is seamless before a triple axel, single loop, triple toe loop combination.

The last jump is over-rotated, but not fatally so, and he grimaces as pain blooms through his chest from his attempt to stay upright, leaving him gasping as he sets himself up for the next combination. Kicking the ice, he takes off, his chest muscles contract with the effort and he doesn’t even get one rotation in before he hits the ice, rolling back onto his feet as quickly as possible. Everything hurts, now, between the twisting and the fall and he moves into his step sequence. Gritting his teeth, he forces his body to perform the moves, pushes the pain away as he swirls across the rink, moves his arms, performs the motions as gracefully as he can manage.

In practice, he’d have stopped, he’d already be heading off the ice to sit but he can’t right now. He’s going to see this through, win or lose, and he refuses to do less than is physically possible. So close to finishing, he makes an off-the-cuff decision to change his last jump, and instead of the quad toe loop planned, he does his signature quad flip. Though it ends with him on the ice again, there’s enough rotations, and Viktor bites back tears as he goes into his final combination spin.

It’s almost over. He’s almost done, just the last bit to finish and as the song comes to an end, he stops his spin, crosses one leg behind the other, and opens his arms to the judges.

A moment of silence, before the crowd erupts into applause and Viktor bows his head, clutches his ribs with his right hand as he falls to one knee. Quickly, the applause grows quiet even as stuffed animals and flowers continue to litter the ice.

Deep, gasping breaths get him the oxygen he needs but exacerbate the pain in his chest and tears run freely down his face. After another long moment, he gets himself standing, waves to the crowd in each direction but doesn’t bow like he normally does. It would hurt far too much and the pain he’s already in is all-encompassing.

At first, a few people start cheering again, shouting pride and encouragement, and then it spreads. Though the performance had gone badly, his effort was noticed and as the cheers grow into a roar of support, of admiration, Viktor manages a smile. He’s about three meters from the gap in the boards when he glances over to see Chris handing off his hard guards, taking to the ice and skating directly to Viktor.

Without words, he slots himself under Viktor’s right arm and there’s another stabbing pain that would cause Viktor to stumble if he wasn’t being supported. The tears flow more, the choking gasps he’s taking audible as his stomach squirms uncomfortably. Yakov stands next to the exit, a concerned frown on his face and Viktor’s jacket and hard guards in hand as well as the Makkachin tissue box. He’s almost there, Viktor’s almost off the ice and able to relax when the first wave of nausea hits him.

Glancing around, he sees a trash can, pushes past Yakov and other well-wishers as he runs over and empties his stomach. Wave after wave of nausea comes over him and with each, he finds the urge to throw up stronger and by the time he’s finished, he’s crying. The jumbotron is showing footage from his routine rather than him, thankfully enough, and a tissue comes into his line of sight.

First, he wipes his mouth, spits into the can and wipes it again, before tossing that tissue and holding his hand out for another. With that one, he wipes his eyes, and Yulian holds out an open bottle of water.

Taking it, he drinks. It’s cool against his now-sore throat, washes away the remnants of Viktor’s breakfast and lunch as he drains half the bottle. Someone comes up behind him on his right side, resting their hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Nikiforov, my name is Antonio; I’m a medic. We need to check you out.”

Viktor nods. Looking at Yakov, he’s relieved when his coach nods. His eyes widen when Yakov gets down on one knee.

“Lift your foot,” he says, and Viktor understands, following the order. One hard guard is put on, then the other, and Yakov stands with a pained grunt before draping Viktor’s jacket across his shoulders and giving a nod to the medic, letting him escort Viktor out of the arena without waiting to hear his score.

 

“Third,” Yakov says as he walks into the small room Viktor’s resting in. “You placed third, and only because the Italian messed up. Two-point difference between you and Crispino.”

Sighing with relief, Viktor nods. He managed to medal, if barely, with the worst score he’s gotten in years.

By the time the medaling ceremony is set to start, Viktor’s feeling well enough that he figures he can manage to participate. He waits on the sidelines while the people holding bouquets and the medals file out on the carpet near the podium. Behind him, he knows Yuri and Chris are standing, waiting as well. Neck crawling, he feels their eyes on him as the announcer begins.

Once his name is said, Viktor takes to the ice, skating to the center and waving at the crowds as he bows, just barely, at the neck. Their cheers share similar enthusiasm to the ones just after his program. Smiling, Viktor tries to thank them for their support even after his mistakes. Skating to the podium, he steps carefully onto the lowest stair and waits for his fellow medalists. It’s been years since he’s been here, in third place at a competition of this magnitude. Years since he was the first on the ice for the ceremony. Still, he feels a sense of pride within the disappointment, the knowledge that he tried and pushed through and though it didn’t pay off as well as he’d hoped, it had paid off better than he’d expected.

Yuri’s announced next and he greets the audience with a flourish and a smile Viktor can tell is at least partially genuine, before skating to take his place on the other side of the podium. Next is Chris, and he does the same, shaking both Viktor and Yuri’s hands before stepping up to the top. The medals are awarded by an ISO official. Rather than bending at the waist, Viktor bends at the knees to allow bronze to be draped over his neck and he shakes the man’s hand with a smile. As the other medals are awarded, Viktor claps along with everyone else, smiles in a display of good sportsmanship and some measure of pride, in his little cousin especially. The bouquets are handed out, they shake hands with a few people Viktor doesn’t know and missed the names of, and he stands as the Swiss National Anthem plays over the loudspeakers.

After the celebratory flag lap and a photo op, Viktor finally skates to the edge of the ice and steps off. This time it’s Mila that gets his skate guards, having come down from where she’d been sitting in the audience, and Viktor thanks her profusely even as she smiles awkwardly. Yuri watches from the side, frowning.

 

In the locker room, Viktor asks his bodyguards to ensure some level of privacy as he goes to get changed into his tracksuit for the press conference. After a few minutes of pained struggling, Yulian peeks around the corner and, without asking, moves to help. He takes Viktor’s skates off, unzips his costume and helps him get changed, before going back to his post and letting Viktor pack his things. The entire time, Viktor feels a burning in his cheeks, near-humiliation that he can barely dress himself after that performance. He wipes his eyes, blows his nose, and grabs his stuff as they head out.

Just as he’s approaching Yakov and his staff, Viktor feels a gentle touch on his arm, turning to smile at Chris as best he can.

“Congratulations,” Viktor says as he hands his gear bag to his assistant.

“Vitya…” Chris looks around, then down at the shining gold medal in his hands before he meets Viktor’s eyes. “I… I just…” He doesn't seem as happy as he ought to, having won Euros for the first time since he started competing in Seniors, and he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Viktor asks. “You finally beat me, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not like this,” Chris replies. “I didn’t want it to happen like _this.”_

Viktor shrugs. “Well, it happened. You won. Mazel tov.” The medication is starting to kick in, the pain in his chest easing enough for him to breathe relatively freely, but it’s still bad. He needs rest, he needs to be away from everyone, to go to his hotel room and not be in the public eye at all.

“Vitya, I just wanted—”

“What? To beat me when I was at the top of my game? Was winning alone not enough?” He knows he sounds angry, and part of him _is._ Chris has spent years— _years—_ going on and on about how one day he’d beat Viktor and now he doesn’t even have the humility to accept that he _has._

Crossing his arms, Chris pouts. “I wanted it to be a _fair_ competition.”

As exhausted as he is, as much pain as he’s in, Viktor has little will or desire to participate in social pleasantries so he just shrugs. “I did my best. You did your best. This time, your best was better.”

“But it wasn’t, you’re—”

“In pain,” Viktor bites, “and it’s not going to _stop_ until I can sit down and rest.” Chris looks guilty, but nods.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” an ISO Official says, “are you still planning on attending the press conference?”

Turning to them, Viktor nods, grateful for the shift in topic. “I am. Is it starting?”

“In a moment, if you and Mr. Giacometti could make your way to the media room with Mr. Plisetsky, we’d appreciate it.”

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “Of course.”

 

The press conference is more subdued than Viktor expects. Where he frequently is confronted with rapid-fire questions and rampant speculation, instead they behave themselves. Questions about Viktor’s future in figure skating are answered with refusal to comment. Viktor’s not promising even Worlds until he talks to his doctors, and he doesn’t want to deal with the questioning that would come with him announcing his retirement after the end of this season. No one fixates on Viktor, luckily, and he suspects either the Palace, the RSF, or the ISO (or some combination thereof) had made it clear that all competitors were to be equally respected, as Viktor’s private life (public though it is) should have no relevance at post-competition press conferences. Grateful, Viktor takes the few questions he’s asked, answers to the best of his ability, and drinks the water provided while he waits to be let go.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Zlata says in the limo, “medical staff has advised against pushing yourself at all over the next few days, until you can see your doctor.”

Viktor looks at her, closes his eyes and nods. “I won’t skate the exhibition. Also… Please tell the ISO I won’t be attending the Gala, either.” Turin’s lights flash through the windows as they make their way through traffic to the hotel and Viktor looks out the window as they drive. Yuri’s been silent the entire time. Outside of the press conference, he’s said very little, and out of the corner of his eye Viktor keeps noticing his little cousin staring. He always looks away when Viktor glances in his direction, but still, he seems lost in thought each time.

“Will you be returning to St. Petersburg early, sir?” Yulian asks.

Glancing around the limo, Viktor sighs. If he leaves, he takes the private jet, which leaves everyone else in a lurch, but… he really wants to go home. His mom had messaged earlier, she’d said she might fly in early but he’s not sure when that’ll be and he wants to be there when she arrives.

He _wants his mom,_ and part of him feels guilty for nodding. “If possible,” he says, “but only so long as everyone else is still taken back as planned, instead of having to arrange their own transportation. If the Palace refuses to foot the bill, I personally will.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Zlata responds. “I’ll inform the Palace of the change in plans. Rest assured, Mr. Nikiforov, unlikely though it is should it be required I’ll personally discuss the matter with His Royal Majesty.”

Viktor nods. “If it comes to that, let me know. I’ll call Yuuri and figure things out.”

She nods. At the other end of the limo, Yuri scoffs and flashes a glare in her direction, before slouching further and staring out the window. He’s pissed about something, it seems, but prying is only likely to upset him more, especially in front of people. By the time they arrive at the hotel, travel arrangements have been made for both Viktor and his rinkmates, and he packs his things for the flight home in a few hours.

 

~*~

 

When he gets out of the car at the house in St. Petersburg, he doesn’t expect to see his mother standing there, but he does, and tears well up in his eyes as she opens her arms. As short as she is, and as much as Viktor’s chest hurts, he can’t hug her properly, but her arms around his waist are comforting. She coaxes him inside.

Tea is brought when they get to the sitting room, their lunch orders are taken and written down. Hilaire has him sit on the couch. Thankfully, it’s comfortable; soft enough to feel like heaven but supportive enough that it doesn’t hurt. Viktor watches as his mom moves around the room, stoking the fire, grabbing pillows, and pulling an ottoman over for Viktor to put his feet on before she sits next to him.

“Your mother wants me to remind you that she loves you and is proud of you,” she says after a few moments. Viktor looks at her. She looks back at him, and raises one eyebrow. “I am too, you know. And so’s your brother. And your sister.”

Viktor looks down. “I knew, though,” he says. “Before I even left Russia, I knew it wasn’t going to go well.”

“From what Yakov tells me, you started checking in with your medical staff even more.”

“I did.”

“And you skated as safely as you could, all things considering.”

Viktor nods.

“And you did your best.”

“Yeah…” It’s hard not to wonder where this is going, but when she touches his cheek he turns to look at her.

“Then I don’t see what’s not to be proud of,” she says.

Looking down, he nods again, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t notice,” he says, voice thick. “I… I’m a professional athlete, I should have known when I was overtraining and—”

“Vitya. My darling boy, it really is easy to miss, especially at the start. Every athlete I know has known someone who overtrained, or has themselves, and all of them agree that it’s not always obvious. The important thing is that you _took steps to correct it._ You didn’t just ignore it and assume it would get better. You’re taking some time off, yes?”

“Yeah, I am. I have press to do anyway.” If anything, he knows the upcoming interviews are going to be uncomfortable at best. Everyone loves a star, yes, but watching one fall from grace gets people even more riled up, eager to know the how and why of such an unfortunate situation. It’s always invasive, always uncomfortable when people pry, even if it’s something positive. This is very much not positive. Next to Viktor, Hilaire makes a displeased noise and purses her lips.

“Do you need a distraction, or do you want to talk it out?”

Warmth spreads in him as he gives her a small smile. “Distraction, I think,” he replies. As great as it is to have her here, comforting people isn’t her forte. This isn’t to say she’s particularly bad at it, but she shares Viktor’s awkwardness around emotions. Leaning over, she kisses him on the cheek and they settle into the couch as she tells him about the work she’s in town for.

 

~*~

 

Viktor wakes to his phone blaring. Grabbing it, he doesn't even check who it is before answering.

“What?”

“Vityusha, it's a lie.” Yuuri sounds panicked, his breathing irregular. “Vityusha, I swear, I never— I would _never,_ I promise.”

_“What?”_ Groggy, Viktor rolls on his side, fumbling to turn the light on.

“Vitya, I-I'd never— Vitya, I love you!”

Clearly panicking, Yuuri's struggling to breathe on the other end and as much adrenaline as is running through Viktor's brain, as much as he wants to know what the hell Yuuri’s talking about if Yuuri can't talk, Viktor has no way to find out.

“Lyubov, Lyubov breathe. Deep breaths.”

He can hear Yuuri trying, struggling through hitched sobs, choking back whatever has sent him into this. Once he sounds calmer, Viktor sighs softly.

“Lyubov, what happened? Can you tell me?”

“Th-the tabloids, it's entirely out of context, Vitya, I—”

“Let me Google it,” Viktor says softly. “I promise, I'll talk… whatever it is through with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “I already have people on it it’s just— they—”

“It's the tabloids, I know how they are. Lyubov, let me see what's going on, yes?”

“Okay.” Barely a whisper, his voice is shaking and Viktor sits up, turning the bedside lamp on.

“Lyubov, breathe for me while I'm looking. I'll have you on speakerphone. I'll still be here.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri breathes, as much as he can, doing his best to keep it steady while Viktor pulls up the search bar.

It’s instantly clear what’s so wrong.

Clicking the first search result, Viktor sees an angry headline emblazoned under a picture of a rather displeased-looking Yuuri.

**“WE’LL BE HAVING A TALK,” KING OF SACHIMA SAYS OF BOYFRIEND’S LOSS.**

Viktor frowns, flipping through other results and clicking through to a few articles. All imply that Yuuri is incredibly disappointed with his unfortunate choice of partner, or there's an imminent break-up, or that they’re fighting.

**“IF THIS IS THE END, THIS IS THE END,” SACHIMAN KING SAYS ABOUT NIKIFOROV BRONZE.**

It turns Viktor’s stomach. There are plenty of references to a press conference Viktor assumes just happened, but no actual transcripts or footage. In the articles, the only quotes from Yuuri are short with only the vaguest descriptions of context. To the practiced eye, it’s obvious they’re spinning things in a desperate attempt to grab the public’s attention. He frowns. In his anger is an undercurrent of guilt, a small voice reminding him that _he_ was the one who overtrained. _He_ was the one who brought his own downfall and he closes his eyes. As soon as he’d realized what was happening, he’d backed off, though it was too little too late.

It hadn’t been intentional. Even his medical staff had been under the impression things were going just fine and it wasn’t anyone’s _fault._ That’s how being an athlete is.

“Vitya?” Yuuri’s voice, tinny, comes through the speakers and the hesitation sends a spike of anger through Viktor. Both of them over the last few months have made it clear Yuuri’s support in this is absolute, regardless of how things go, and for the tabloids to throw that aside for views and to sell copies is an insult at the very least.

“I… I see it, Lyubov. I’m not mad. Not at you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. They… there aren’t any transcripts, but there’s no way you meant it that way. The picture isn't even _recent,_ it’s from a conference about the trials a few months back. I remember the suit.”

A relieved sigh comes through the other end. “I can explain, I-I promise, it’s entirely out of context, I’ll even have them send you footage if you like.”

“Both?” Viktor asks. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but if I watch it myself I can yell at people properly.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Yuuri says. There’s the sound of his hand on the microphone, a murmur to someone nearby, and then he’s back. “It’s… Once I went through this week’s discussion of policy, you know my weekly thing, they started asking about you and I just… It’s the ‘the end’ quote, right?”

“That’s one of them. ‘We’ll be having a talk’ is another.”

Sighing heavily, Yuuri takes a moment. “The end… They asked how I’d feel if your career was over after this. If it’s the end, it’s the end, and that’s that, and I told them, I _said_ I was proud of you and I loved you and if you retired that wouldn’t change anything and they—” He sighs again. “You saw how they made it look.”

“I did.”

“About the talk, I just told them we’ll be discussing how you want to proceed from here. That you wouldn’t be pushed one way or the other. It’s not like I’m going to _yell at you_ or anything.”

“I know, Lyubov,” Viktor says. “I know, the press is just… They’re terrible. You said you have people on it?”

“Yeah, I had them release a… quite brusque statement regarding the press and them spinning this so badly and referring to you as my boyfriend when we’re officially engaged. PR will likely be contacting your people to discuss statements and help minimize the fallout from this and whatnot, I just… Vitya, I’m so sorry.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “it’s the tabloids. You didn’t even say anything wrong.”

“Y-yeah.”

“This is nowhere near the first tabloid fiasco I've had, Lyubov,” he murmurs. “We'll get through this.”

“How are you so sure?” He asks. “Vitya, it’s— They’re saying such _awful_ things.”

For all Yuuri’s confidence about the press, for all his time in the tabloids while he was in hiding, it’s never been like this. Always, they’ve been speculating, and there’s only so much you can say about a child who ran in fear of his life. Now, Yuuri’s an adult. Now, Yuuri’s speaking for himself, in public, and with the already-high amount of public scrutiny the chance for direct attacks like this has grown exponentially. Yuuri’s never weathered a storm of this sort, and for once it's Viktor who knows what to do.

“Yuuri, PR is working on a response. It's their job to handle these things. We do what they say, we refute the statements, and we keep a united front. They're looking for overreaction, we just have to make them see they aren't worth our time.” There’s silence on the other end. Not wanting to push the matter, Viktor waits.

After a moment, it becomes evident Yuuri’s crying, albeit very quietly.

“Yuuri,” Viktor soothes. “Lyubov moya. Miliy. Breathe for me. People are saying nasty things, but we know the truth. We have people who’ll help. I’m here and I’m not upset with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“B-but I mean, tabloids and you being with me and—”

“Lyubov.” He keeps his voice soft, his tone confident and reassuring. “Lyubov I’ve always assumed there’d be something with the tabloids at one point or another. It’s one of the things I needed to talk to you about before I knew you were royal.”

“What?”

“Yuurasha, I’m a celebrity. Russia’s National Hero? People would be bound to talk about me and anyone I was with. The tabloids already _have_ in the past, and I’d been wanting to ask you if that’s something you were okay with and aware of, dating me, but I hadn’t managed to find the courage before we got to Hasetsu.” Standing, Viktor runs his fingers through his hair. “Yuuri, if I wasn’t with you they’d be finding something else to talk about. This is not something unexpected for me.”

“It isn’t?”

“Not in the least,” Viktor replies.

“They’re saying we’re breaking up, that I meant things like… like _that.”_

“Did you?”

“What? _No!”_

“Then we’re good. _We_ know the truth. Our _families_ know the truth. The footage of the conference _shows_ the truth. I believe you over journalists any day. Yuuri, you're not losing me over this.”

“Okay, sorry, I just…”

“Lyubov. I know it’s anxiety, and I’ll tell you as many times as I need that we’re _okay.”_

Somehow, he knows Yuuri can tell he’s angry. The paparazzi and tabloids have been getting increasingly worse, and he has half a mind to call them up and yell, but he won’t. The Palace is likely working with the Russian Skating Federation to figure out how to smooth things over, and they’ll be contacting Viktor’s assistants soon, if they haven't already. In all likelihood, Viktor will be asked to clear things up himself. How mad he’ll be allowed to get is still a question, but he’s not just going to passively ask them to please kindly not be jerks again. No, this is an absolutely ridiculous, absolutely disgusting sort of rumor to spread and those involved ought to be ashamed.

“You're upset.”

“With the press,” Viktor says. “Not you, Lyubov. I’m not upset with you at all.”

 

Unsurprisingly, his assistant is awake when he walks downstairs.

“Sir,” she says when she sees him, “I need to discuss a matter with you.”

“Coffee, first,” he mutters, walking into the kitchen. She follows.

“I’m sorry to say it’s quite—”

“If you’re talking about the fiasco with the tabloids, Yuuri already called me about it.” Grabbing a mug, he dumps a hefty amount of sugar in before pouring the hot coffee.

“Well, that’s exactly what it’s about,” she says. “Did His Royal Majesty clarify for you?”

“He clarified,” Viktor responds, adding cream. He grabs a spoon out of the holder and stirs. “He’s having someone send me footage of the press conference and likely a transcript as well.”

Chef Elena takes a moment to ask how he wants his eggs, and once she’s been told she shoos him off. He walks back into the dining room, heading to the table.

“I’m glad to hear that, sir. We’ll need to film a statement today, since you don’t have practice, explaining that His Majesty and yourself are still engaged and addressing the press' behavior.”

“So how are we responding entirely?” Sitting, Viktor leans back in his chair. “I assume Yuuri is, of course, clarifying what he meant and reiterating his support. What’s _my_ response?” He takes a sip of coffee. At four-thirty in the morning it’s far too early to be dealing with all of this, but he can’t exactly avoid it.

“You, sir, are emphasizing that you knew he supported you all along, and that you’re upset with regards to the press’s callous treatment of your relationship and repeated statements of unity. You’re offended by this desperate attempt at a spin and them using it for their own ends.”

“Oh, well at least I’m being truthful.”

She nods. “Indeed, sir. I’m glad to say that Royal Palace, ISO and the RSF all take the same position.”

“And after the statement am I to discuss this in any capacity?”

“For now, sir, we ask that you firmly refute the statements and refuse to entertain further lines of questioning.” She accepts a cup of tea from one of the kitchen staff, thanking them. “We don’t want to give them additional fodder or exposure.”

“Understandable.” Viktor sighs. “Would it be too much to refuse interview inquiries from any publication that doesn’t redact their statements with an apology?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. I’ll discuss it with the PR team.”

Nodding, Viktor takes another sip of his coffee. It’s warm and strong and delicious, though it doesn’t carry the same special feeling as drinking Yuuri’s. He misses his fiancé, and after this all he wants to do is hold him, pull him to his chest and kiss his hair in reassurance. There may be an inquiry about visiting Hasetsu soon.

There are the stirrings of anger in his belly, though, especially strong now that he’s awake.

“How’s public response?” Food is set in front of him and he thanks the person, sitting up to eat.

“Mixed. As it’s recent, we have no way of knowing what the next few days are going to bring but so far the most popular responses are either that the press has gone too far, that it is in fact the end of you two, or that the press is wrong but His Majesty ought to end it.”

Viktor sighs. “But the Palace is supportive of us staying together?”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “Rest assured, after speaking with Their Royal Majesties and Their Royal Highnesses, the Palace has seen fit to vocally put their support 100% behind your relationship.”

Which means Yuuri and his family had words with them. Viktor smiles. “Good to know, thank you.”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” his assistant says.

“Yes?”

“In this instance, His Majesty and The Royal Palace have both deemed it appropriate for you to use His Majesty’s first name throughout your statement, without an honorific.”

Satisfied, Viktor nods.

“Good.”

 

Instead of going straight to his doctor’s like he should, Viktor’s diverted to the rink to make his statement. It’s a waste of time, but he agrees with the Palace in that this ought to be handled as soon as possible. They’re met with a police escort down the street a few blocks, and as they drive to the rink Viktor’s assistant briefs him. He’s allowed to get angry. Allowed to bite back, much like he used to.

As weird as he’d felt having a police escort, he’s grateful as they pull through the gates of Yubileyny. The space in front of the rink entrance is packed with people, presumably members of the press that either won’t fit or aren’t allowed in the main briefing room. It just goes to show how huge this is. The main briefing room here is massive, and unless they’re restricting all access until Viktor’s in the building, there’s a _lot_ of press. Regardless, as they come to a stop he’s told to stay back, to not open the door himself and instead wait until they’ve cleared a path for him to get into the building. Fixing the neckline of the sweater he’s wearing so it falls right under the peacoat, he takes a look at the mirror his assistant holds out. Next comes a scarf and his best pair of sunglasses, and he leans back in the seat as security struggles to clear the way.

When it’s deemed safe, his bodyguards stand to either side of the car door and the driver walks around to open it.

Seeing him, the crowd roars, a cacophony of chaotic yelling and camera flashes assaulting him. They surge against the wall of security guards, some people reaching out, but Viktor walks confidently. Flanked by four of his bodyguards, he knows they’ll keep people at an acceptable distance until he’s made it through the doors. Yakov stands at the top of the stairs. The glare he’s wearing could peel paint but Viktor knows it’s not aimed at him. No, Yakov’s never been happy about how Viktor’s treated by the press and this sort of situation is the kind he abhors.

His hand on Viktor’s back is a reassuring presence as they head in. “Vultures,” he mutters once they’re through the doors.

“Did my people explain?”

Yakov nods. “They gave the full quotes; I know Katsuki’s not an ass.” There’s something refreshing in his insistence of calling Yuuri by his assumed last name, still. Yuuri likes it too, says he feels less alienated when he’s interacting with them. It’s amusing. Lilia finds such breaches of propriety rude at best, and yet the king Viktor’s about to marry finds it more entertaining than anything else.

They end up in Yakov’s office, upstairs with large glass windows overlooking the rink. Viktor closes his eyes. The last time he’d been in here had been the day of the attack, with all sorts of chaos and speculation about whether or not his fiancé was still alive blaring from the television. Going to his storage closet, Yakov pulls out a heavy keyring and unlocks it. When he turns, he’s holding his best bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

“Sit,” he orders.

Viktor complies, sitting in the hard wooden chair opposite Yakov’s. A full shot glass is set in front of him.

He takes his shot at the same time as Yakov, and puts the glass back in the middle of the desk. Raising one bushy eyebrow, Yakov fills it again, watching as Viktor downs that one as well.

“Don’t say a thing,” Viktor mutters. “I’ve been up since four dealing with this bullshit.”

“I’m the one who pulled out the vodka.”

He has a point. Viktor shrugs. Though his bodyguards are keeping watch outside the door, he still finds himself glancing out at the rink, wondering if the press is going to appear there instead of staying in the conference room designated.

There’s a knock on the door, Yakov yells for whoever it is to come in, and Viktor’s assistant enters.

“Mr. Nikiforov, we’re about ready to… Is that vodka?”

“And if it is?” Viktor levels her with a _look._ There’s no need for her commentary right now, and he knows she can tell he’s absolutely done with everything because she merely bows her head.

“So long as you’re able to effectively make the statement, sir,” she says, “there aren’t any issues.”

“I should hope not.” Pulling a piece of mint gum out of his bag, Viktor starts chewing. It’s highly unlikely anyone will get close enough to him to smell the alcohol on his breath, but there’s no need to take risks. He can already feel the vodka loosening him up, tempering the sharp edges of his anger into something more fit for public consumption.

 

Soon enough, he’s shuttled downstairs and through the halls, his bodyguards at his sides and security officers making sure the way ahead is cleared. Through a gap in the door, Viktor can see the room packed with reporters, cameras blanketing the walls. The only camera allowed towards the front is the one hired by the RSF. It’s the “official” feed, the one that will be broadcast on all official channels related to Viktor. The Palace will receive an unedited copy to post where they will, likely alongside Yuuri’s.

When he enters, cameras flash and the room goes wild. Moving to stand at the podium, he puts the lone cue card he was given in front of him, reminding him of the talking points he has to cover. Frankly, he doesn’t need it, but it’s good to have anyway and he looks out over the crowd. He knows they can tell he’s angry. The shouts slow, then stop, and he waits a moment before jumping in without preamble.

“I find the recent tabloid speculations absolutely abhorrent, highly disrespectful, and downright unnecessary as I focus on healing for Worlds,” he bites. “Time and time again, Yuuri and I have emphasized our commitment to each other and to our relationship, and our unwavering support. The phrases in question, especially, were torn from their original context, which was that of him expressly reiterating his support for my career, regardless of what medals I do or don’t earn, and his trust for me in making my own decisions regarding such. To take Yuuri’s words of support and twist them like this, especially in conjunction with calling him my _boyfriend_ instead of my fiancé as he is officially… Any journalist worth their salt should be absolutely _ashamed_ to allow such libel in their publication.” Pausing, he looks around the room. The reporters sit in stunned silence, some glancing at each other.

Taking a deep breath, Viktor continues. “Yuuri and I have done our utmost to allow as much access by the press and the public as we can without sacrificing our personal privacy too much. We have taken into consideration not only attention garnered by Yuuri’s position, but my existing public presence and fan base and position in the international figure skating community, making efforts to make ourselves available to political and sports publications alike. Our gestures of good faith were returned with a slap in the face.” They look shocked at the amount of sheer rage in his tone, but the fact of the matter is he’s _angry._

It isn’t hard for Viktor to brush off bad or wildly speculative press. It doesn’t bother him as much when the claims are as outrageous as these, but it goes beyond him, now, and that makes it unacceptable. It had Yuuri calling in tears and a panic, desperately hoping Viktor would just hear him out before getting upset. It has his rinkmates and friends questioning him again, his mother giving him a concerned look along with a kiss on his cheek when he’d left this morning.

“We have now reconsidered how much access we will give to any given publication,” he continues. “Both Yuuri and I, along with the Hasetsu Royal Palace, the International Skating Organization, and the Russian Skating Federation, have seen fit to change our interview standards. Any, and I do mean _any,_ organization that has participated in a spin as drastic as this will be declined all interview and event requests until such a time as they have publicly retracted their statement and published an apology. While Yuuri and I are more than understanding of the fact that not all press is good press, and understand that we will not always be seen in a favorable light, we also understand that this isn’t even bad press. It’s a desperate bid for traffic and revenue, and frankly unacceptable.”

A woman stands towards the front. “Mr. Nikiforov, may I—”

“I've made my statement and will be taking no questions at this time. Requests for statements or interviews may be directed to the Royal Palace of Akitsushima, the ISO, or the RSF. Thank you.” Turning, he leaves the room and the shouting of reporters behind.

 

~*~

 

**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << i love you**  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> I love you too. Did you watch?**  
  
**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << yeah, when I was done filming mine.**   
**< << we ended up filming at the same time abouts, lol**   
**< << were you able to see my statement?**  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> Not yet, no. Yakov had to go over my schedule and then I went to the doctor’s for x-rays**   
**> >> Nothing too bad, but I’m supposed to take it easy over the next two weeks and then train up again.**  
  
**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << good, i was worried**  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> How are you doing? Any better?**  
  
**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << ……….yes?**  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> Yuuuuuuuri.**  
  
**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << i’ll live. mari made me take my meds, so i’ll nap soon. hopefully i’ll wake up and not be all… like this.**  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> I love you even when you’re “like this”, you know that, right?**  
  
**From: Yuuri <3**   
**< << i do. yeah. **   
**< << yeah. **  
  
**To: Yuuri <3**   
**> >> I do. Very much.**

Vanishing into his private study, Viktor takes a few minutes to watch Yuuri's press release. The first thing he notices is the black suit Yuuri's wearing, severe lines complementing the dark silver crown he wears. He has a fresh haircut, Viktor notes with a smile, but it fades when he takes in the cold rage in Yuuri's expression. Normally good at hiding his emotions, the fact that he's clearly trying and failing to keep himself more distant is telling. They've likely allowed him to loosen up, some, but what “loosening up” means for Yuuri isn't the same for most people and this goes beyond anything Viktor's seen in public.

When Yuuri takes his place behind the desk it's with all the bearing of the King he is. Viktor wonders for a moment if Yuuri's former coworkers would recognize him if they didn't know who he was, but then Yuuri speaks.

“To have my words of support for my fiancé twisted in such a manner as to call into question the status of our well-established relationship is abhorrent.” Yuuri leans forward, clasping his hands. “I've seen myself as a topic of tabloid speculation more times than I can possibly think to count over the years but not _once_ have I been more disgusted than I am today. I am not unaware of the risks of having a public presence, nor am I unaware that at times my words will be understood differently than I intend, but as far as this specific incident, my meaning was clear. If Viktor should decide this is the end of his career, I will support him in that and not push him further than he wants to go. Likewise, should he continue, he will have my full support in that as well. We will be talking about this in the near future, so we both have an idea of what to expect over the coming weeks.”

A shout comes from the back of the room, and Yuuri's eyes narrow further.

“I am not taking questions.” Another shout. Instead of responding, Yuuri merely looks back at the camera. “Since my return to Akitsushima and accession to the throne, I have done my utmost to allow the public unprecedented access to my life and the monarchy as a whole, and have especially worked to take into consideration Viktor’s existing public presence. I am determined to share as much as I can with the world without sacrificing every ounce of privacy I have, and have made that more than clear, but libel of this sort against me and my fiancé has forced me to reconsider the lax standards I’ve held so far. Not only is this defamation deeply hurtful and unsettling to myself and those close to me, but could, at its extremes, lead to an international political incident with potentially devastating consequences.” His gaze moves around the room, clearly taking in whatever reactions he’s getting from those present. There’s a hushed murmuring, but Yuuri raises his hand and the room quiets.

“While I do not expect the press to report on me favorably at all times I do believe in journalistic integrity, instead of outright libel. Suffice to say, I believe any publication participating in a spin of this magnitude has little integrity, if any, and after a long discussion with my PR and legal teams have henceforth revoked the press passes for all publications involved in this libel for all Royal Events and Properties, and will not be granting interview or statement requests. Reinstatement of these privileges will occur only after a public retraction and apology have been issued. For the worst cases, I will be discussing possible courses of action with my legal team. My life has been fodder enough for the tabloids so far, and I'm not inclined to passively accept it anymore.”

There's an uproar, but it silences when Yuuri sits up straight. “Inquiries will be directed to the Royal Palace, thank you,” he says, standing. The entire room rises as he makes his exit. The video feed cuts out just as Yuuri glances back into the room, and Viktor can see the beginnings of anxiety in his eyes. No wonder he was antsy when he texted earlier.

 

**To: Yuuri <3**

**> >> Still awake? **

**From: Yuuri <3**

**< << yeah, but sleepy. vidcall? **

Viktor does. It's answered on the first ring, Yuuri smiling when they connect. Waving sleepily, he snuggles further into the blankets.

“I love you,” Viktor says.

“Love you, too,” Yuuri murmurs. “I’m sorry. For this.”

“Yuuri, it’s not- you didn’t do anything. It’s the press, you were very clear about what you meant. There’s literally no way this is your fault.”

There’s a soft sigh as Yuuri nods into his pillow. “Yeah, I just… I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” Startled, Yuuri lifts his eyes, staring directly at the screen. “I’m serious,” Viktor continues. “I’ve had just as bad in the past, well before I met you. The first time something like this happened I was nineteen.”

Yuuri frowns, curiosity written in his brow. “What happened?”

“I made the wrong joke at the wrong time,” Viktor says. “I forgot which competition I was at, but I sarcastically said I’d retire if I lost which… the media took as serious. Next day, all I could see on my social media was my imminent retirement due to the apparent fact that I was, according to them, shallow and weak-willed and unable to handle defeat without running away.”

“Oh, oof.”

“It is what it is,” Viktor says, nonchalant. “I tried my best to clear things up— at that time I was still getting used to the media— and they stopped after a while.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks. Though gentle, his tone is strange and he picks up his phone, doing something before a message notification pops up on Viktor’s screen. He clicks the link, and a headline pops up.

**“IF I LOSE, I'LL QUIT!” - NIKIFOROV TO MAKE GOOD ON OLD PROMISE?**

“Apparently not,” Viktor mutters, scrolling through paragraphs of speculation. “It shouldn’t be much of an issue. We’ll keep doing what we do, and this’ll pass.”

“You sound so sure.”

“We’ll be on the front pages until they find a new target. It’s how the media works. As soon as we stop being a sensational story, they’ll move on.”

Nodding, Yuuri yawns, settling back into the blankets. “Feels like all we've _done_ is be on the front page. First I come home, which was huge by itself, and then they find out we're together, then it's you competing with blurbs about me, then I changed the succession and _that_ made waves, and of course with the attack and everything… You know?”

“Yeah. With Worlds coming up… Especially if I win, there'll be a lot of media stuff then, too.”

“You're competing?”

“If I can. I'd like a sixth consecutive gold! It would look good next to the other five.”

Yuuri’s resulting laugh turns quickly into another yawn, and he rubs his eyes sleepily. “We should get a case made,” he says, “to display your medals.”

“In public?”

“If you want. It could be on our bedroom wall for all I care. Just… they’re your accomplishments.”

Viktor’s mood dampens, his face falls and he looks to the side. “Yuuri, I—”

“Even this bronze,” Yuuri says. “I’m still proud of you. You did your best. I’d have been proud even if you’d placed last.”

A lump forms in Viktor’s throat as he looks back on the screen. Tired though he is, Yuuri’s smiling, soft and gentle and full of love.

“I miss you,” Viktor says in lieu of thanks. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Seeming to understand, Yuuri smiles. “I can’t w—” He’s cut off by another yawn, and when he finishes he rubs his eyes. “I can’t wait either.”

“Go to sleep, Lyubov.” Yuuri pouts, adorably almost, and Viktor wishes he could kiss his nose. “Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Ok,” Yuuri murmurs. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Hanging up, Viktor sighs and stands to head downstairs.

 

In the kitchen, his mother is helping Chef Elena chop up vegetables, chatting amiably the whole while. Viktor greets them, heading to the coffee pot and pouring a cup. Normally, he’d put cream and sugar in the coffee, but after the (early) morning he’s had he decides to drink it black.

“Do you guys need help?” he asks, eyeing the pile of vegetables yet to be prepared.

“That won’t be necessary, sir, thank you. I can assure you we are more than capable of preparing lunch properly.”

Hilaire looks first at Elena, then at Viktor. “If you’d _like_ to help, Vitka, you could wash and peel the potatoes for me.”

“Ma’am,” Elena says, “that’s not necessary, it’s…” Trailing off, she seems to look at Viktor for help. He sighs.

“I like cooking, Chef Elena,” he says. “Propriety aside, I don’t mind helping out, some.”

“Then grab that,” his mother says, gesturing at the potato peeler, “and take care of those.” She gestures at the potatoes.

Smiling, Viktor nods, grateful for the distraction she’s providing. He’d texted her while waiting for the doctor, explaining what had happened and why he was gone so early, and she’d promised to do what she could to help him feel better. She knows he loves cooking, knows it helps calm him down, and has less patience for the royal nonsense than her wife. There’s no further protest made as Viktor puts an apron on and grabs the bowl of potatoes, gladly helping his mom cook until his wrist is far too sore. Even when he has to stop he stays, talking and chatting and generally enjoying the rare quiet afternoon at home.

 

~*~

 

Over the next week, he spends time with his mother when she’s home and time at the rink when she’s not. Yakov gives him a _look_ whenever it looks like he might be tempted to go on the ice, but he knows Viktor’s not bringing his skates, and he knows that Viktor just needs to get out of the house, sometimes, and a few trips around town have told him he won’t be able to do anything without being approached. In a store, he’s asked why he’d compete if he knew he would fail anyway, not that a bronze medal should count as failure. He’s in line dealing with his driver’s license when he hears whispers nearby, talking about how Russia should find a different hero, how he should have just retired, how there’s no use in supporting someone who doesn’t know when to quit. Flashing a glare at the couple gets them to shut up, but doesn’t make him feel better in the least.

There’d been no question that his performance made waves, and though the vast majority of people seem to at least be indifferent if not outright supportive, it’s the negative comments that latch onto the back of his mind, resurfacing at odd times and managing to ruin any good mood he has. He shouldn’t be letting it get to him, he knows, the nature of competition brings with it a slew of public opinions and the inability to defend oneself from the onslaught entirely, but it’s impossible to just brush off. Instagram and twitter don’t help and none of the press he’s done since the competition has given him any reason to believe they’re going to stop asking about it. Every interview he’s done has asked why. How he could let this happen, why he’d push himself this far in the first place and what Yuuri has to say about all this and all he can do is smile, reiterate that he’s done his best, that he’s still with Yuuri while trying to keep the more invasive line of questioning at bay. There’s no escaping it in life or on social media, and he’s stopped looking at his mentions entirely. He already knows what he’s going to see.

Either Russia’s National Hero is not being the right kind of National Hero, or Akitsushima’s future King-Consort is making the current King look bad, and it’s rare that anyone considers how he might feel about things. Sure, there’s the occasional comment about how he’s a person and not infallible, how he’s not there solely for the benefit of others, but those are a whisper amongst a million screams.

At the end of the day, it seems the world sees him as an object, something to be tossed aside when it doesn’t meet their expectations and though he’s had stuff like this happen before, it’s never been quite this bad. Plenty of people have read Yuuri’s comments, plenty of people who claim loyalty to the Crown say that Yuuri is “right,” but it’s clear many of them haven’t bothered to look past the headlines to see the real meaning. It’s like they saw what the press said and took it as inescapable fact, Viktor be damned.

He’s talking to Yakov at the rink when he finally breaks. Press outside had been relentless, asking him for interviews or even a statement regarding his failure, and it had taken all four of his bodyguards to get him through the gates to the sports complex. Having managed to get through that in one piece, to cheerfully ignore the occasional look he gets from the staff members, it’s hearing his cousin walking past with Mila, glancing in his direction and saying “useless” when he turns away that has Viktor’s throat in a lump. Of everyone, Viktor had thought his rinkmates would be the most understanding, and though the ones he doesn’t know have been politely civil, they talk amongst themselves, too. He knows it.

Yakov makes a sincere effort to pull Viktor’s attention away, to continue to talk about the training regimen he’d set up with Viktor’s medical staff to try to ensure the best possible conditions for Worlds but with every word about success and a good performance and Viktor proving himself, he feels worse and worse. It’s clear Yakov’s doing his best to reassure him, but making it about his performance and emphasizing his chances isn’t what Viktor needs.

He needs people to focus less on the Legend, and more on Viktor.

After another five minutes of Viktor trying to nod through whatever it is Yakov’s saying, Yakov sighs.

“Go home, Vitya,” he says. “You’re not listening and it isn’t helping besides. We’ll talk later.”

Barely holding it together at this point, Viktor nods and walks out of the arena. Instead of heading straight out, he heads to the locker room because he can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, his breathing growing faster, and as much as he wants to go home he doesn’t want people taking pictures of the inevitable mess he’ll be. There’s no way he’d be able to keep the crying at bay until he’s safely at the house, so he directs Yulian to stay outside, finds a nice corner amongst the steel lockers, and sits with his knees to his chest as he sobs into his arms.

 

“Vitya.”

Georgi’s voice is gentle, the click of the lock behind him reassuring as Viktor scrubs at his face in front of one of the sinks.

“What?” It comes out more steady than he expects. Looking in the mirror has him almost disgusted with himself. Face flushed from crying, the silver of his hair and glittering deep blue of his eyes stand out in stark relief. There’s a sort of beauty in him, the raw gentleness of sunlight through the remnants of a storm and striking though it is, it makes him uncomfortable.

“Vitya, let's go.” Georgi comes up behind him, reaching for his shoulder. When Viktor shrugs away, his hand drops. “Come on.”

“What, do you want to talk it out?” Explaining how much the shitty press is affecting him isn't high on the list of things he wants to do at the moment. Thankfully, Georgi shakes his head.

“I want to get you out of the rink for a bit, I don't care what happens next. We could go to my house and drink.”

Viktor looks at the locked door, then back at his rinkmate. “I'll have to check with my bodyguards.”

“They don't control you.”

“No, Viktor says, “but they make sure I’m safe and can go where I want unhindered. If they… They may not feel comfortable with it if they don't feel like they'll be able to do their jobs.”

For a moment Georgi looks at him, but he concedes. “Alright. Whatever information they need, I'll give.”

 

Surrounded by sunlight and plants, Viktor feels an immediate sense of calm standing in Georgi’s living room.

“I'll get the samovar going,” Georgi says, padding into the kitchen.

Viktor takes the side of the couch closest to the window, breathing in the perfume of the flowers littered around the room. Where Georgi finds the time for an intensive plant care regimen on top of training Viktor may never know, but he manages it beautifully.

“Milk? Jam? Honey?” Georgi asks as he peeks back in.

“Just the tea,” Viktor says. “Thanks.”

Nodding, Georgi disappears again.

Viktor looks out the window, into the restaurant he knows his bodyguards are at. It's been a while since he’s been over, the last time being just a short visit to drop something off early last season, but the only thing that's changed is the number of plants.

A mug moves into his line of vision. He takes it, looking up into Georgi's gentle smile, and blows across the top before taking a sip.

“Thank you,” he says.

Georgi nods.

A few quiet minutes are spent just sitting, both of them sipping their tea intermittently, and strangely Viktor finds himself wanting to talk. Wanting to tell someone how hard dealing with the shift in public opinion is, and maybe getting a response that isn't some variant of “just ignore it.”

Of everyone at the rink, Georgi's the least likely to pull that or turn this into a lecture, so Viktor sighs, looks at him, and finally— _finally—_ is able to vent properly. Georgi listens, gets more tea, and keeps listening, all the while making very little commentary. What he does say tends towards agreeing with Viktor, that the press is blowing things out of proportion and handling this badly, or reassurance that Viktor has the right to feel this upset. Being in the public eye, no matter for how long, doesn’t make anyone immune to commentary like this, he tells him, and it’s no surprise that Viktor’s feeling how he does.

The validation is comforting, far more than Viktor had expected it to be, and when Viktor leaves, he’s feeling better than he has in days.

 

~*~

 

Groggy, Viktor’s nursing a fresh cup of coffee in the dining room while he waits for his food. The TV is on, the four am weather report just finishing, and as he takes another sip, the topic changes. A picture of himself and Yuuri onscreen draws his attention and he frowns as the reporters start discussing the investigation.

“I can change the channel,” Yulian says from a few seats over. Viktor looks at him and shakes his head.

“They’re talking about new developments, I should watch.” Though he could get any information he needs from his staff, or even Yuuri directly, there’s no harm in seeing what the reporters have to say. Still talking, they’re giving their audience a run-down of the case so far, including footage of the attack and a few interviews and press conferences he and Yuuri have done in the time since. Once they’re done summarizing, they move on to the case itself.

“Recent developments regarding final testimonies coming up has resulted in the release of the following statement regarding the King of Sachima’s request for remote testimony to be given by his fiancé, Mr. Viktor Nikfiforov of Russia.” The shot switches to a press briefing, the lawyer representing Takeda and Yoshida smiling at the cameras from a podium and Viktor stifles a yawn so he can hear them.

“As much as we’d like to approve His Royal Majesty’s request,” the man says, smug, “Mr. Nikiforov doesn’t meet the exception criteria as stated in Sachima’s legal code requiring in-person witness testimony, and therefore is ineligible to testify remotely.” The way he says it, it’s almost a petty ‘fuck you’ to Yuuri. If Yuuri pushes the issue with no legal grounds, it’s likely that he’ll be accused of favoritism if not outright sabotage, his reputation as someone who values justice and being fair would be tarnished at best, and it seems Viktor will be visiting Hasetsu sooner rather than later.

The camera cuts back to the reporters. “So far, there has been comment from neither the Royal Palace in Hasetsu nor the legal representation for His Majesty and Mr. Nikiforov. We’ve contacted...”

Standing, Viktor picks up his coffee and turns his back to the television as the reporter continues. “I’m going to call Yuuri,” he says to Yulian. “Please have them bring my food to my sitting room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Walking at a brisk pace, Viktor pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Yuuri’s office line. He presses call, and gets directed to Yuuri’s secretary.

“Office of His Majesty The King at Hasetsu Royal Palace,” he says, “how may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to The King directly,” Viktor says before taking a large gulp of coffee.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll need your—”

“Viktor Nikiforov.” He gives his Palace-assigned identification number and waits a moment.

“Of course, sir,” the secretary says, “I apologize. I’ll connect you to His Majesty’s direct line right away.”

Viktor makes a noise of agreement, sipping his coffee again as he closes the sitting room door behind him. Though it isn’t much, especially not after the care he’s taken, his chest is hurting a bit. Pain meds would likely be a good idea, but they can wait until he’s done. In all honesty, he ought to have called Yuuri’s cell phone, but Yuuri tends to keep it in his desk and on silent when he’s actually working, and there’s no way of knowing if he’s in a meeting. The phone rings a third time before it’s picked up.

“Hello?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I saw the news, when do I need to be out there?”

“Well,” Yuuri says, “since a good portion of the trial involves stuff from when I was younger, I was going to look into having you removed from the witness list.” If Viktor wasn’t awake before, he is now. An already-unpleasant morning combines with burning anger and the sting of Yuuri directly disrespecting Viktor’s need for input over his own life, especially because Yuuri _knows._ He _knows_ Viktor won’t be told what to do, and he _knows_ Viktor wants him to check, and he _knows,_ because Viktor _told him so,_ that this is one of the few things that really upsets him.

“You _what?”_ Almost livid, he listens to the silence on the other line for a moment. “You were going to have me _removed?”_

“I was _thinking_ about it,” Yuuri says, “I— I was trying to make things easy on you. You’re _hurt,_ you’re focused on training up for Worlds and—”

“Did it even occur to you that I might _want_ to testify? Yuuri, they tried to _kill_ me!”

An attendant walks in with Viktor’s food on a tray and a look in their eyes that says they know there’s a fight going on, and Viktor gestures for them to leave it on the table. As they leave, Yuuri takes a deep breath. “I _know,_ Vitya, but your _skating—”_

“There’s a perfectly serviceable rink out there and you _know_ it.”

“Vitya, you’re already so stressed, I was— I just wanted to help!”

“You should have _asked_ me, then, instead of making my decisions _for_ me! We _discussed_ this!”

“You’d said you weren’t looking forward to testifying, that you’d wished things weren’t _like_ this,” Yuuri says, “and I just… I didn’t want to put you under any more pressure and flying out, especially last minute, takes time you don’t _have—”_

“I’ll _make_ the time,” Viktor bites. “Tell them to put me back on.”

“I haven’t… I just asked them to look into things to see what might happen and if it would harm our case, I haven’t _actually_ had your name removed, I would have confirmed it with you first, Vitya!” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, and Viktor takes a deep breath and pauses to reassess the situation.

All of the information Yuuri had had pointed to a high likelihood that Viktor wouldn’t want to be involved if he didn’t have to be. Yuuri’d said he’d only been looking into it and hadn’t made a final decision, and Viktor sighs as he hears quiet sniffles on the other end. He may have taken things a bit far.

“Yuuri, I—”

“I just— I wanted—”

“I know, Lyubov,” Viktor murmurs. “I know, you wanted to help, I’m… I shouldn’t have overreacted, I’m sorry. I should have made sure I knew exactly what was going on. I just wish you’d checked with me _first,_ I could have saved you the trouble of trying to figure it out in the first place.”

There’s a quiet, shaky breath and another sniffle before Yuuri speaks. “I should have. You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed I knew what you were going to choose. I— I’m sorry, too.”

They’re both silent as Viktor sits at the table, pulling dishes off the tray the attendant had set down. There’s a knock on Yuuri’s door, and he calls for the person to come in. Viktor starts on his breakfast, putting fresh fruit in his oatmeal before stirring gently and adding cream. A muffled voice seems to be explaining something, and Yuuri makes a few confirming noises, before instructing whoever it is to cancel the inquiry about the witness list and ask a member of the security team that handles their travel to meet with Yuuri at their earliest convenience. By the time he’s done, Viktor’s a few bites into his breakfast and Yuuri seems calmer.

“I thought you’d still be asleep,” Yuuri says.

“I should be. I woke up to go to the bathroom and decided to just stay up.”

There’s another knock on Yuuri’s door and, once again, he gives permission for the person to enter. He takes a moment to listen, agrees to something, and comes back on the line. “I… Vitya, I have to go. I’m sorry, I have a meeting with someone and they’ve just arrived downstairs.”

“Mhmm.” Viktor swallows the bite he was working on, taking another sip of his coffee. “Okay. Text when you’re free? I’ll be heading to ballet soon. Lilia’s trying to keep my flexibility up, at least.”

“Alright,” Yuuri replies. “And… I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s okay, Lyubov,” Viktor says. “We’re okay.”

Yuuri lets out an audible sigh of relief before saying his goodbyes and hanging up. Placing his phone face-down on the table, Viktor continues to work on his breakfast.

As he finishes, there’s a light knock on the door before his mother pokes his head in. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, “is this a bad time?”

Viktor shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” With a raised eyebrow, she comes over to sit at the table with him.

“I heard raised voices. Well, yours.”

“Yuuri and I had a discussion,” he says. “I’m… I’m going to have to go back out to Hasetsu for a bit.”

“The trial?”

Nodding, Viktor finishes the dregs of his coffee. “You can still stay here,” he says. “I’ll only have my personal staff with me, not the household in its entirety and I’ll likely be back before you’re done with your work.”

“I’ll stay until you get here,” she says. “Your mother and I already discussed it, she’ll be fine with me gone a bit more.”

Biting his lip as he looks up at her, Viktor nods in thanks. She pulls him into her arms, running her fingers through his hair as she kisses it. “I’ll be here, Vityen’ka, I promise.”

Grateful, he leans over and wraps his arms around her, buries his face in her shoulder as she rubs his back.

 

~*~

 

With only a few days to prepare for his trip to Hasetsu, Viktor finds himself more worried than he’d anticipated. Much of it has to do with the testimony itself. He won’t be allowed prepared notes, he won’t be allowed breaks to collect himself, he won’t be allowed to tell the story as he wants to, instead needing to answer whatever questions it is the lawyers and judge throw at him. Intellectually, he knows he has all he needs. Unpleasant interviews are a fact of public life, and this is just another form of that. Highly unpleasant, and with genuine consequences rather than just an unfortunate headline and cringey quotations. The questioning he’s facing could, potentially, make or break the case.

Maybe not quite ‘make or break,’ there’s so much more to this than just the attack in Russia, but his testimony is still vital as far as recent developments. Takeda threatened him, first, repeatedly. Viktor’s position in Yuuri’s life has caused more turbulence than either of them had expected, though Yuuri’s said he knew it wouldn’t be easy. If Viktor hadn’t been with Yuuri, hadn’t _stayed,_ then things may not have gone as badly as they did. There would have been plenty for Yuuri to deal with, for sure, and the political climate had been unstable long before he’d even _met_ Viktor, but their relationship had added complications and motivation for Takeda and Yoshida and their ilk to make a move.

Often, he finds himself lost in thought, running possible questions and responses (and mistakes) through his mind ad nauseum until he can see no way it goes well, can imagine no outcome other than a misspoken phrase leading to their pardon.

In his nightmares, they lose more than just the case. He loses Yuuri, Yuuri loses the crown, they lose in a game of deadly chess when a revenge plot successfully comes to fruition and he finds his sleep less and less restful as the nights pass. His last day in St. Petersburg he spends at the rink, skating lazy figures on the ice until well after everyone’s gone home. Temptation to do more than figures is ever-present. Viktor has his phone, has the music he needs to practice his routines but his doctor had made it clear that he was still to be doing nothing strenuous. As much as Viktor wants to dive headlong into training, he wants to do things right, more, so he resists. Once the sentencing is over and he’s back in St. Petersburg, he’ll be working hard to prepare for Worlds. There’s one last opportunity to prove himself this season, and he intends to take full advantage of it.

It’s been dark for hours when Viktor’s phone rings on the boards. Skating over, he picks it up to decline the call, but thinks better when he sees his mother’s name. When he answers he knows she can hear the exhaustion and worry in his voice. She’s seen him awake at unreasonable hours in the morning with bags under his eyes making his exhaustion obvious. She’s talked him through what’s going to happen at the trial, has done her best to ease his worries, but she also knows there’s only so much she can do.

Viktor doesn’t know what he expected when he answered, but it wasn’t to be told to meet his driver out front to be taken to an unknown address. Looking at Yulian with a raised eyebrow, Viktor’s surprised to see his bodyguard smile.

“I can assure you, sir, she checked with us first,” he says, “and the location is one I believe you’ll find favorable.”

“Can’t you just tell me where it is?” Viktor asks.

“Mrs. Nikiforova was quite adamant that it be kept from you, sir,” Yulian replies, “but if you order me to tell you I can’t refuse.”

Pursing his lips, Viktor weighs his options until his mother clears her throat on the other line.

“Vitka,” she says, “do you trust me?”

He sighs. “I do. I only have jeans with me, though.”

“That’s not an issue,” she laughs. “Vitya, meet me there. I promise, if you don’t want to stay, we can leave right away. No questions asked, no judgement.”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I need to shower and change, but I’ll head out when I’m done.”

“That’s fine,” she says, “take your time. I’ll see you soon, sweetie.”

 

The car pulls up in front of a restaurant Viktor recognizes immediately. Rather than one of the fancier restaurants he’s come to expect in his time with Yuuri, this one is small, a hole-in-the-wall with ten tables and a typical Russian menu. Near where Viktor’s old apartment is, it had been a frequent stop on the way home from the rink, when he was too tired to cook for himself in addition to walking Makkachin.

This place holds a lot of good memories, and when he steps out of the car his mother smiles.

“You brought us here a while back,” she says. “It only took your mother and I two hours of googling to figure out where it was.”

He hugs her. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“So you don’t want to leave?”

“No. No, this… this is going to be nice.”

When he walks in the owner nods at him with a glimmer of a smile, pointing at a table in a corner near the kitchens. Almost impossible to see from the street, and removed from most of the rest of the tables, it provides some much-needed privacy.

They’re seated without fanfare, menus dropped on the table unceremoniously before they’re given water. Viktor orders a beer for himself and his mother merely asks for a pot of tea to be brought. When they get their drinks they order their food and are left alone. A few tables away, but within easy sight, Viktor’s bodyguards sit and order their own meals.

Hilaire starts off with small talk; describing the outfits she’s making for her client, the materials, the construction, and her plans for improvement. Viktor’s not entirely lost, he grew up with her and her work and has a basic understanding of almost everything. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a chat like this, and he’s grateful when a steaming bowl of solyanka is set in front of him. Tangy and rich, the soup is warm and comforting. His mother moves on to talking about Katya and their plans to take her to Canada soon to see Québec. There’s no conversation expected from Viktor, which is a nice change from the dinners he normally attends.

He listens, makes the occasional comment or asks a question, and works on eating his meal. The presentation is refreshingly simple, food just plated to be eaten instead of to be admired, and when their entrees arrive, Viktor allows himself to dig into his Chicken Kiev with fervor. It’s good, the crispy outside enclosing moist, buttery chicken that goes well with the mashed potatoes served alongside it.

Which he promptly drops on his chest.

Immediately, he grabs a napkin, wiping what he can off but there’s still a stain and he grimaces.

His mother laughs. “What’s wrong?”

Raising one eyebrow, he gestures at the barely-there mess on his shirt. She looks around. “Who are you trying to impress?” she asks. “I changed your diapers.”

“I got my food on my shirt, it’s—”

“Vitka, there’s no one here except staff, your bodyguards, and myself, and I can tell you for a fact I spent _years_ with you getting _your_ food on _my_ shirt. Sometimes, it had already been eaten!”

_“Maman.”_

“And that’s not to mention the snot-covered green beans after you shoved them far enough up your nose to make yourself sneeze.”

“Maman, I was _four.”_

She shrugs, cutting a piece of potato with her fork. “You’re still four, give or take a few decades. Vitka, relax. Eat. Stop pushing your potatoes around your plate and actually put them in your mouth. We’re not at the Palace.”

Viktor sighs. She’s right. There isn’t anyone here who hasn’t seen him in a more compromising position, and court protocol and formality has no bearing. With renewed fervor, he starts eating again, grateful for the relaxed atmosphere. The owners know him well enough that he’s sure they won’t be bothered, they’ve put him in a location where he can’t be seen from the street and Yulian and Sofia are here to ensure his privacy should someone still try something. He can _relax,_ for once, and just enjoy a night out with his mother.

 

In the car on the way back to the house, he leans against her, letting her run her fingers through his hair as the lights of St. Petersburg pass them by. She kisses his head, whispers how much she loves him, how much she supports him, how proud she is that he’s standing up for himself even as hard as it will be. Even as scared as he feels, illogical though it is.

Takeda and Yoshida will be there, yes, but they won’t be able to get to him. Knowing that lessens the fear, eases his nerves, but doesn’t erase it entirely. It’s a stressful situation, and the stress won’t stop until it’s over and done.

 

~*~

 

The next evening his mother sees him off with a kiss and a smile, and he boards the jet to Hasetsu. The flight is uneventful, Viktor reclining a chair until it’s almost horizontal and sleeping through most of it. Landing in the late morning, Viktor’s happy to see he’s met by Yuuri in one of the palace cars, a steaming cup of coffee in the cup holder and tired smile on his face. They head straight back to the Palace for a meeting with their lawyers, Isamu, and Minako, to discuss expected questions, the process of testifying and what will be expected of Viktor.

Mostly, he’s going to sit and watch. Final testimonies have been taken over the last week or so, one more chance for the court to hear and confirm the original witness testimonies and to double-check details or ask more questions. It’s practically a formality, but a necessary one just the same, and as Viktor hasn’t attended any of the meetings for the trials they’re sure the defense wants to catch him in a lie.

They won’t. Viktor’s read through copies of his statements, has talked through things with his mother and Yuuri and everyone else enough that he knows what he’s doing. It’s _doing_ it that’s the problem. He won’t even have been in Hasetsu for a full day by the time he’s on the stand, he’s tired as it is, can’t stop thinking about the threats and running every terrifying moment of them and the attack through his brain.

He’s terrified, despite the likelihood that everything will work out in his and Yuuri’s favor.

He’s terrified, because it’s only a likelihood, and not a guarantee.

 

Crawling into bed next to Yuuri that night has him sighing in relief, welcoming his fiancé’s arms around him as he huddles close. Yuuri’s been dealing with the trial more than Viktor, has been present each and every time court was in session. He’s given his final testimony, has watched the deliberations and the arguments as Yoshida and Takeda did their best to justify attempted murder. It hasn’t been easy on him, Viktor knows, but he’s done what he needed to.

Now it’s Viktor’s turn, and Yuuri kisses his forehead and nose and chin and reassures him that the entire time he’ll will be there. Yuuri will be watching and supporting him, as he tells his story.

“How do you think the jury will rule?” Viktor whispers into Yuuri’s chest.

Taking a shaky breath, Yuuri sighs. “I’m… I can’t say for sure. The evidence they have… the cases we’ve made… It seems like the obvious choice, to rule in our favor, but we don’t know and I can’t ask. We won’t know for sure until they come back with a sentence.”

“They won’t just tell you what you want to hear, will they?”

There’s a long pause. Yuuri’s specified that the trial needs to be fair, specified that there will be no retaliation for a sentence he’s not happy with, and he’s made sure to make his opinion public and very, very clear, but at the end of the day, he has no control. For all they know, the jury could decide in their favor to win their king’s approval, and they’d be none the wiser. At least charges of corruption will be less likely.

“I want them to,” Yuuri says, softly. “But I don’t. I want it to be over, but I don’t… I don’t want them to try to make me happy. I want them to prosecute because a crime was committed, not because it’s me doing the accusing and…” Rolling on his back, he sighs, staring into the dark of the bedroom. “Part of me wants to tell them to put them away. I know I shouldn’t, but… I want to. I have the power, I could, but… It’s the wrong thing to do. And honestly, I _shouldn’t_ have the power. I don’t… I don’t want the power, having this amount of control over my citizens is uncomfortable.”

“Like when Yoshida asked you to execute Kataoka-san?”

Yuuri nods. “Exactly, I shouldn’t have the power to just order someone’s death. I shouldn’t have the power to order the court to rule in my favor. That kind of power just opens up avenues of abuse, and it’s not right.”

Rolling onto his side, Viktor’s grateful it doesn’t hurt much. The rest has been doing his ribs good, and he sighs as he snuggles close to Yuuri.

“We should sleep,” he murmurs into Yuuri’s chest. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers, settling into Viktor’s arms. “We ought to.”

 

~*~

 

“Thank you, Mr. Nikiforov,” the judge says. “There are no further questions.”

The gavel hits the podium, and Viktor’s free to leave after almost an hour of interrogation. He stands, walking down the short flight of stairs to where Yulian’s waiting, and then over to the chairs where Yuuri sits. When he approaches, Yuuri stands, seemingly uncaring that the whole room follows suit as he walks over.

“We should be wrapping up in a few, if you want to wait outside,” he murmurs.

Viktor nods. “I could do with some water,” he says as lightheartedly as he can manage but he knows Yuuri can hear the tremor in his voice, the tears threatening to spill and Yuuri nods.

“Of course. I’ll meet you outside,” he says.

With a final nod, Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s fingers and walks out, glancing back briefly just before he exits. Takeda and Yoshida are livid, there’s such hatred in their eyes that Viktor can feel it from where he stands and he closes his eyes, swallows, and goes through the door. Glancing around, he sees an alcove down the hall, away from the crowd of people and nowhere near where the press is allowed. He makes a beeline towards it. He needs somewhere small, somewhere dark, somewhere that gives the illusion of privacy enough that he can pull himself back together. There’s no reason he should be crying. _None._ The trial is almost done, he’s given his final testimony. All that’s left is for the judge and jury to finalize the sentence and for Yuuri to do the sentencing and this entire nightmare will be over. For good.

But he _can’t stop crying._

Following closely behind, Yulian jogs a few steps to catch up with him. “Sir?”

“Leave me alone,” Viktor bites.

“My apologies, I… can’t do that, sir, I’m your bodyguard.”

“Then give me _space._ Keep watch or something just— I need a moment.”

Nodding, Yulian stops, looking around for a good spot as Viktor disappears into the alcove. Breathing exercises don’t help, within moments he goes from deep, shaky breaths to gasping, choking back tears and doing his best to keep from straining his ribs any more. He’d done well, he’d managed to keep a level tone and answer clearly and bring up details as needed and keep the demeanor required of him, but now he’s no longer in the courtroom and he can drop the facade, for just a moment. As silently as he can, he cries, tries to talk himself through things in his head but logic isn’t— logic isn’t what he _needs_ right now. He needs Yuuri, or his mother, or some sort of grounding and—

A warm hand settles on his shoulder, and he turns to snap at Yulian to back off but meets Yakov’s concerned gaze.

“You did well,” Yakov says, gruff and concise as ever.

“Yakov? When… Why are you here?”

“Your mothers are busy,” Yakov says by way of explanation and Viktor feels more tears threatening to fall as he throws his arms around his coach.

“I was so _scared,”_ he whispers into Yakov's coat. “I knew— I knew I was safe, they can’t— they can’t h-hurt me again but Yakov, I was so—”

Pulling Viktor closer, Yakov holds him as he cries, awkwardly rubs his back in small circles. It’s not much, but for Yakov it’s clear gesture of love and support and it means the world. Yakov has never fought Viktor's hugs, he seems to accept that sometimes Viktor's a huggy person, but he rarely returns them at all, much less holds Viktor like this. With the lack of commentary about Viktor's decision-making, the sincerity is made even more obvious, and Viktor feels gratitude welling up in him as well. Yakov knew this was going to be hard on Viktor, that Viktor would need some form of support aside from Yuuri and his family, and to take the time out of his busy schedule to fly out shows how much he cares, as much as he likes to pretend he doesn’t.

Clinging to his coach, Viktor lets the stress, the pain, the terror wash over him as he cries, lets himself feel safe in Yakov’s arms while the court proceedings finish. Despite their arguments, despite the distance that’s grown between them in the last few years, Yakov’s always been something like a father figure to Viktor. At the end of the day, he’s always been _there._ Viktor had missed this, too. The sobbing subsides relatively quickly. Viktor wipes his eyes with a tissue Yakov pulled out of a pack in his pocket, blows his nose into another and he’s just rubbing at his face when Yulian clears his throat nearby.

“Mr. Nikiforov, the judge is making closing statements now. The courtroom will be emptying soon.”

“Where can I take him?” Yakov asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Viktor mutters.

“Regardless,” Yulian says, “I’ve been asked to escort you to a nearby lounge. The Palace has a makeup artist here to make sure both yourself and His Majesty are presentable when leaving the courtroom and dealing with the press.”

Scoffing, Yakov moves between Viktor and Yulian. “You can _tell_ the Palace—”

“Yakov,” Viktor says, “it’s fine. I’ve dealt with the press before. The sooner I can get out there with Yuuri, the sooner I can get it over with and go _home.”_ Grateful though he is at Yakov's willingness to fight the Palace, press is to be expected, and something Viktor's okay with doing.

Looking between Viktor and Yulian, Yakov nods, following as they head to the lounge.

 

The makeup artist is almost done by the time Yuuri walks in, brushing the last bit of setting powder onto his face. When they offer him a mirror, Viktor sees that the redness of his nose and cheeks is almost invisible, the bags under his eyes are less prominent, and he gives a grateful sigh of relief. Yuuri looks as if he almost desperately wants to hug Viktor. At this point, both of them know that a hug is going to lead to tears, which will mess up the makeup artist’s hard work, and they substitute a squeeze of the hands as the artist gets to work on Yuuri.

Within no time, they’re both deemed suitably presentable. One of Minako’s aides reminds them not to discuss the investigation, not to get too into conversation about Viktor’s career, not to smile, not to look too upset, too angry, too eager to leave, too eager to stay… There’s so much to remember but luckily, many of the rules are the same ones Viktor’s been abiding by for months now.

As they walk out, Yuuri adjusts his tie and straightens his waistcoat, fiddling briefly with his cufflinks before they approach the last set of doors separating them from chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There ain't no way we're losing_  
>  **This is our life, this is our song.**  
>  We'll fight the powers that be just  
> Don't pick our destiny 'cause  
> You don't know us, you don't belong  
> -Twisted Sister
> 
> It's been a hectic few months, but here it is!!! Chapter 18, done!!!
> 
> Thanks all for being so incredibly patient, it's been a ride and especially recently it's been harder to find the time to write (and inspiration, turns out when you take a few weeks off it takes a bit to get back in the swing of things, lol). The next chapter is.... considerably short at the moment, but I have a general direction I'm going and a few plans I'm looking forward to (though no current estimate of when I'll be publishing)!!! And after that is the epilogue, holy shit.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr,](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/) [twitter (sometimes nsfw),](https://twitter.com/zombubble) and [pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.io/Zombubble)


	19. Hikari no Naka de

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor has always been fond of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from [You Only Live Once by Wutaro Hatano.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7mnNdkhciQ) [(Lyrics.)](https://yurionice.fandom.com/wiki/You_Only_Live_Once#English%20Translation)

The stylist frets over Viktor, adjusting his hair and the way his suit lies on his body as she makes sure he’s presentable for the sentencing. A glance at a nearby mirror tells him his appearance is impeccable, but her job is to ensure it stays that way. Nearby, Yuuri stands tall and regal in more formal court wear. The long haori he wears is embroidered with his family crest, a dark metallic blue on solid black. The crown on his head is glimmering silver, set with rich blue sapphires in an angular design. He’s beautiful. He’s intimidating.

He smiles when he sees Viktor looking, his face lighting up despite the seriousness of the situation. Waving the stylist away, he walks over.

“Are you ready, Vityusha?” Concern knits his brow as he brushes a piece of lint off Viktor’s shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Viktor does his best to smile. “I am.”

Though they’re a hallway over from the Throne Room, they can still hear people moving around outside. Likely, staff making sure everything’s in place. Today, Takeda, Yoshida, and all of their accomplices will be hearing the jury’s verdict. With a few partial exceptions the specific sentences, should they be found guilty, have yet to be determined, though Yuuri’s legal team has a general idea of what they might be. Another deep breath. Security is high today, Viktor and Yuuri are as safe as they can be with triple the usual number of guards present, but there’s still tension lying heavy in the air.

Minako talks them through things one last time. After making their entrance, they’ll proceed to the dais where, as the other injured party and Yuuri’s fiancé, Viktor will sit, for the first time, at Yuuri’s left hand. He won’t be using the Consort’s Throne, that’s still reserved for after the wedding, but the chair he saw earlier was close enough that it will likely feel the same. Once they’re seated, charges will be read out and the jury and presiding judge will approach Yuuri with the verdict. Multiple copies of the verdict have already been made and put in sealed envelopes to be given to various high-level government officials. Accountability is important for Yuuri, and this way if he announces a verdict other than what the jury has come to, it will immediately be public knowledge.

He’s okay with this, as nerve-wracking as it is. It’s important to him that the public sees his honesty, his desire to go with the will of the people and it’s an extra bit of insurance for him. With the power he has, the temptation to ensure the outcome he wants is almost overwhelming, and this way he can’t.

Once the verdict is read, it’s over. If found innocent, those connected to the plot will immediately walk free. If found guilty, they’ll be escorted out by the guard to await the final individual sentences. Altogether, there are about fifty people involved. Fifty people found to be working against the Crown, excluding those who’ve passed on or vanished in the years since Yuuri was a child. It seems almost too small a number to have had such an impact on the monarchy, but when Viktor considers the positions of the accused, he can see how it was done. Aside from Atsuko and Takeda and Yoshida and their families, those being tried form a surprisingly far-reaching network. Staff of other nobles, a few people in law enforcement and former Palace staff mingle with a few people in ideal positions, including one of the higher-ups in one of Akitsushima’s most prominent security companies.

When his connection to the plots was uncovered, Yuuri’d been disgusted. The Palace had been in talks with that very security company about making upgrades, and there’s evidence pointing to those talks having provided the blueprints needed to ensure Takeda could have people in the walls, surveilling them. That Hana had been smart enough to insist on them using one of the few private rooms inaccessible through the passages was more fortunate than they’d realized.

Altogether, the entire affair should take only half an hour or so, depending on how long initial speeches go. It’ll be a nerve-wracking half-hour, though. All too soon, Viktor and Yuuri are told it’s time, that they’ll be meeting the rest of the Royal Family nearer the Throne Room for everyone to make their entrance. Isamu’s flown back out, mostly because of his heavy involvement in the investigation but Viktor knows that part of it is a desire to see the people who’d made life hell for the Royal Family be brought to justice after all these years. Especially as his brother died before he could see Yuuri safe. It’s personal, for Isamu and Yuuri and everyone else in the Royal Family, Viktor included.

Yuuri presses a soft kiss to Viktor’s lips before they head out, giving him a reassuring smile.

They meet everyone in a small room just meters from the entrance. In somber formal attire the rest of Yuuri’s family stands ready. Mari wears a new tiara, one made in honor of her becoming Crown Princess, and Hiroko one of the smaller consort’s crowns while Isamu wears the same sort of circlet he usually wears. Despite the friendly smiles on their faces, they still have this air of aloofness about them around pretty much everyone else. Except Viktor. Mari gives him an optimistic smile that he tries to return.

Minutes later, they’re standing outside the imposing doors of the Throne Room itself. Everyone else is inside, the press along the walls, officials seated to one side while those being sentenced are seated to the other. It seems a lot for just reading the verdict, but Yuuri had assured him that his involvement with this sort of thing only happens with _major_ criminal cases.

Such as this one.

When they’re told to line up for their entrance, Hiroko first goes to Yuuri, then Viktor and Mari, hugging each of them and pressing a kiss to their cheeks before taking her place on Isamu’s arm. Mari stands behind them, alone, and Yuuri offers his arm to Viktor, as they’ll be entering last. It’s nerve-wracking. Though they’d practiced in the few days since the testimony, Viktor’s never entered the room at Yuuri’s side in front of the public, under this sort of scrutiny and _somehow_ he has to look comfortable doing so. Sound people check his earpiece one last time. While the court still speaks English regularly, the language of the country is Japanese and the event will be conducted in the language of the people.

Viktor’s not sure he could keep up unaided, but Yuuri had spent most of yesterday ensuring Viktor knew the words for ‘innocent’ and ‘guilty’ so he would know as soon as Yuuri read the verdict, rather than waiting the additional second for the interpretation to come through.

The doors are opened, and Isamu and Hiroko are announced. Shortly after, Mari is, and she follows behind them. Arm hooked in Yuuri’s, Viktor squeezes his hand one last time earning another small smile. Then they, too, are announced. Like they practiced, they make their way down the long green carpet, heads held high and eyes on the throne at the other end. The King’s Guard, the elite group in charge of Yuuri’s security at such events, lines the dais, standing perfectly at attention with Hana directly behind the throne. Mari stands to the right of the throne in front of the smaller one Yuuri used to call his, with Hiroko next to her. To the left is the chair Viktor will be using, further away than it would be, and on the lower level, but stylistically similar enough that it doesn’t stand out and ruin the effect.

Walking to the top of the dais, they unlink their arms and turn in unison to face the sea of people, and Viktor firmly avoids looking at the accused. His nerves are bad enough. Once Yuuri sits, Viktor follows suit for the first time at Yuuri's left hand, his position now unquestionable. The rest of the room is seated, and the proceedings start.

 

After several speeches and a run-down of the case so far from Akitsushima’s most prominent judge, it comes time to read the verdict. The jury, in two lines, proceeds from their seats down the center aisle and the head juror bows as she approaches the dais. In hand is one of the sealed envelopes, and a glance around tells Viktor that staff has given the others out. No one will open their envelope before Yuuri opens his, but everyone sits ready in anticipation. Yuuri holds his hand out, the head juror bows again as she presents it to him, and he takes it as quickly as he can without it looking rude.

Tearing the seal off the envelope with an ornate letter opener he promptly hands off, Yuuri takes a subtle deep breath. One of his legs twitches, a quest for the support Viktor’s usually able to provide, but they’re too far apart. Handing the envelope off as well, Yuuri takes another breath and stands, motioning for everyone to stay seated before addressing the room.

“I would like to thank the judge and jury in advance for ruling according to your conscience. The verdict today, regardless of what it is, is a reflection of the outcome of much deliberation and consideration of the evidence and testimonies presented throughout the duration of the trial. I commend you for your hard work and dedication to justice.” He nods in the direction of the judge and jury, now seated towards the front of the room.

“Takeda Masayoshi-san, Yoshida Hitoshi-san, and Kataoka Atsuko-san, you may step forward, and the rest of the accused may stand.” Everyone does, and Takeda, Yoshida, and Atsuko are escorted by the guards to the dais, where they kneel on a small platform. Yuuri continues, the barest hint of contempt in his voice. “The three of you, and your accomplices, have been charged with High Treason, Conspiracy against the Crown, and attempted assassination of Mr. Viktor Nikiforov and myself, your King. After days of deliberation, the jury has come back with their final verdict, to which I will adhere.”

Around the room, Vitkor sees people nodding their heads in approval. Yuuri’s found it’s never a bad idea to reiterate respect for the laws and the will of the people, and so far it’s turning out he’s correct. Yuuri looks down at the paper and Viktor can see the barest bit of hesitation, the nerves Yuuri’s hiding so well coming to the surface for just a moment, before Yuuri unfolds it. The minute relaxation of his shoulders tells Viktor the verdict before it’s read, and he has to contain a smile as Yuuri looks out at the crowd.

“In relation to these charges, these Jurors of the High Court of Akitsushima have found all defendants unquestionably guilty, and will commence in determining the specifics of your sentences based on the role each of you has taken in this, and cooperation with law enforcement for the duration of the trial. Kataoka-san.”

She looks up at him, expression haggard but not antagonistic.

“I would like to personally thank you for your willingness to cooperate with the investigation, and the decisive role you played in ensuring justice was served.”

She nods.

“Takeda-san, Yoshida-san,” he says, addressing them directly, “in accordance with the Laws of Akitsushima and the penalties for High Treason defined therein, I, your Sovereign Ruler, now strip you of both your titles and noble status forthwith.”

The blood drains from Takeda and Yoshida’s faces and Viktor finds it harder to contain his joy. Not only are they guilty, not only is this nightmare effectively over, but they’ve now become part of the group of people they hated so very, _very_ much. Yuuri continues. “You will all receive your full sentences within the week,” he says. “The Guard will escort you out.”

 

“You did well,” Mari says halfway through lunch.

Yuuri raises one eyebrow. “I just… all I did was tell them the verdict and carry out part of the sentencing for those assholes.”

“Yeah, and you did it _well,”_ Mari replies. “You're not as bad at this as you think you are, you know.”

Giving her a small smile, Yuuri nods, wrapping one arm around her waist. She hugs his shoulders, smiling, and gives him a kiss before going back to her food.

“Vicchan,” Hiroko says, “you’re leaving _after_ dinner, correct?”

Nodding, Viktor swallows the noodles he’d been chewing. “Yeah, probably an hour or two after we finish. Why?”

“I’m making katsudon,” she answers. “It’s a special day, of sorts, and we haven’t properly celebrated your win at Nationals since we’ve been so busy.”

Celebratory katsudon? For Viktor? With a grin, he nods. “I can’t wait,” he says. “Thanks, mom.”

Yuuri snorts. Viktor’s cheeks burn when he realizes what he said, but the smile on Hiroko’s face is bright and loving as she pats his hand. “Of course, dear,” she replies, before going back to her food. Meeting his fiancé’s eyes, Viktor raises one eyebrow and Yuuri nods.

“In Japanese it’s—”

“Okaa-san, I know.”

Mari leans forward. “We just use Kaa-chan in private, if you’d like.”

Now the tips of his ears are burning, and his chest and back and he wonders why it is he blushes _everywhere_ as he nods. “I _know,”_ he says, “I’ve been living with you guys for over a year, now.”

“Just making sure, you’ve been in Russia for a while.” Leaning back, Mari sips her tea. The atmosphere is lighter than he’d have expected, but despite the press he and the Royal Family had had to do after the sentencing it had, overall, been a good morning.

Those who’d tried to bring this happy life to an end are powerless, now, unable to retaliate and paying for the crimes they’d committed. After almost a year of terror, after months and months of dealing with the trial on top of everything else, it’s _over._ They’re safe, and they can relax. Where he’s sitting, Isamu looks over with a smile.

“Viktor, you’re more than welcome to address my wife and kids and I like family as well,” he says.

Viktor nods, face burning, but he can’t contain a smile. “Then… Vitya’s fine. For your family, too.”

“Of course,” he replies. “When is it your competition is?”

As pleasant as the previous interaction was, Viktor’s embarrassment is happy for the shift in topic. “It’s in a month,” he says. “I’ve taken the last few weeks off to let my ribs rest, but when I get back I’ll be working on training up.”

“Carefully?”

“Yes. I did fine before Nationals, but I didn’t take any sort of break after and tried to push harder for Euros and, well… it didn’t work out as well as I’d thought it would, but my doctor will be seeing me almost daily and the RSF is having a medic attend practice to keep an eye out.”

Satisfied, Isamu nods. “Good to hear; we were worried.”

“I was under close supervision after we figured out what was going on,” Viktor says. “My coach wouldn’t have tolerated anything less.”

“Your coach seems like a good man,” Isamu replies. “I’m sorry we only had a few hours with him after your testimony.”

Viktor chuckles. “He has his moments. He just wanted to be there for me after I testified. Yura, Gosha and Mila are training for Worlds and he had to get back to Russia to keep them on track. If he’s not there, there tends to be shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?” Yuuri asks. “Who, Yura?”

“Or Mila, if not both. It’s a toss-up as to who’ll be worse any given day, in all honesty.”

“I can’t wait to see your programs in competition,” Yuuri says. Cheeks dusted red, he seems to be avoiding Viktor’s gaze.

“You’ve seen them, Lyubov. At the last two competitions I’ve gone to.”

“Not in person.”

Viktor raises one eyebrow, then frowns, then his eyes widen as he beams. “You’re going?!”

Yuuri nods excitedly. “I am! I’m going to meet you in St. Petersburg beforehand, so we can arrive in the States together!”

Leaning over, Viktor pulls Yuuri close, kisses him on the lips before resting his forehead on his fiancé’s. “Will you be incognito?”

“Why should I?” Yuuri murmurs. “I’m not hiding anymore, and it’s not like I can get away with not being recognized at this point. People know who you're engaged to and I _want_ to go on your arm. I want to support you, publicly. I want to cheer you on and watch you skate and—”

“Sit at the Kiss and Cry with me?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Pulling back, Viktor frowns. “If? _Yuuri,”_ he scolds.

Blushing more, Yuuri nods. “Okay, yeah, I’ll sit with you. I’d _love_ to.”

“I’ll have Yakov get you a rinkside pass, yeah?”

“Mmm, we’re going to need enough for bodyguards, too. Do you think they’ll let you?”

“Please. I’m _Viktor Nikiforov,_ they aren’t just going to turn me down on a whim. Imagine the press they’d get. ‘ISO turns down figure skating five-time World Champion’s request to have his fiancé able to watch from the boards as he skates his last competition in person’ isn’t a headline they’re going to want. Especially not after they’ve been supporting us through the press bullshit.”

“Mmmm true,” Yuuri says, kissing his cheek. “I can’t wait.”

Viktor can’t wait either. Knowing Yuuri’s going to be there, knowing they don’t have to hide and dodge the press and keep him secret is thrilling in its own way, and there’s a renewed desire in him to make Worlds a proper swan song. He shifts a bit closer to his fiancé, and by the time a light, fruity dessert is served they’re hip-to-hip, arms around each other when they’re not actively putting food in their mouths. Leaving tonight is going to be rough, despite the promised celebratory katsudon, but it won’t be much longer until he’s back in Hasetsu for good and between now and then, he’s going to make the most of things.

 

~*~

 

Arriving at the house in St. Petersburg brings with it a hopeful melancholy. His brief time in Hasetsu had rejuvenated Viktor some, the time with Yuuri precious even amidst the stress and worry of the trial. Now, though, it isn’t hanging over his head anymore. Over and done, the trial can be pushed to the back of Viktor’s mind for good. With open arms, his mother greets him, holding him for a few moments before muttering about getting out of the cold. Makkachin jumps up on him when he walks in the house, licking his face when he bends down to pet him and he spends a few moments with his dog. He’d hated leaving Makkachin here while he’d gone to Hasetsu but travel is stressful and there’d been no good reason to take him on such a short trip.

Now Viktor’s back though, and as he takes off his jacket, handing it off, and switches his shoes out for slippers, Makka stays at his side like he’s always done. Lunch is served, and as Viktor eats he listens to Zlata discuss his new schedule. The Palace feels that press done while he was in Hasetsu, especially the interviews after the verdict had been read, should be mostly sufficient for now. There are a few interviews in the weeks between now and Worlds, most of them with sports publications, and one or two other events, still related to figure skating.

Once they get to Yuuri coming out, though, that changes. He’ll be here four days before they’re expected to leave for Worlds, and in that time there will be more press, more publicity in general, much of it for sports publications. Though the Palace hadn’t been too fond of the idea, Yuuri’d emphasized that Viktor still had a career, and even after retirement would still be known largely as an athlete before as a royal. Then they’ll leave for Boston, for Viktor’s last competition and the excitement that will inevitably come with the retirement of a Legend.

 

~*~

 

Two days after he gets home, Viktor announces his retirement. Rather than doing it in-person, though, he sends out a statement and posts it on every social media page he has in Russian, English, and a Japanese translation the Palace had provided (and he’d had Yuuri look over). Though he tends to just drop information like this and leave his phone alone for the first few hours, this time Viktor takes a moment to read.

_It is with both great sadness and great optimism that I announce my retirement after this season’s World Championships. For over twenty years, I’ve given my heart and soul to figure skating, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it._

That part’s not necessarily true, but the public doesn’t need to know that.

_I would like to first thank my fans, both new and old, for supporting me throughout my career. Such ardent support has meant the world to me, and I hope that my last performances show the love I hold in my heart. I’d also like to thank my coach, Yakov Feltsman, and my dance instructor Lilia Baranovskaya for their help in me reaching the pinnacle of my skating career, helping me train safely while still pushing me to be the best I can. My thanks and love also go to my fiancé and our families for their love and respect with regards to my career, and their support in the decisions I’ve made so far._

_While I know many people will attribute this decision to my recent engagement, I want to reiterate: I’ve been thinking about retiring at this time since before my fiancé and I were in a romantic relationship, even well before I’d met him. At this time last year, I wasn’t even sure I’d be competing in this season. As much as the media will likely try to spin this to say otherwise, my relationship was not the instigator of— or even a factor in— my decision. Nor, for that matter, were my recent injuries. I’ve come back after an injury before and risen to the top of competitive figure skating, and despite my performance at the European Championships I am making a full recovery from the attack in St. Petersburg._

_I love figure skating, and have no intention of stopping completely, but I feel my time in competition has run its course. My career has been one of incredible highs and lows, amazing experiences and wonderful interactions with both my fans and fellow competitors, and while I’m sad to leave it behind, I look to the future with hope._

_Thank you all for your support over the years._

_-Viktor Nikiforov_

 

As expected, news of the Living Legend’s retirement causes a ripple through the figure skating world. Inquiries come from all avenues— social media, the ISO and RSF, the Royal Palace— but Viktor doesn’t comment much more than to reassure people that he’s not quitting altogether. He’s not sure how the Palace will react to him wanting to do ice shows and the like, but he’s sure he’ll be able to work something out, even if he has to frame it as charity work.

 

~*~

 

Being back at the rink, skates in hand is nicer than Viktor’d expected. An early arrival means he has time to field questions from his rinkmates before practice starts. Unsurprisingly enough, Mila’s the one with the most questions and she follows him around asking until Yakov yells at them to get on the ice. For the first practice, Viktor marks his jumps, choosing to focus on his choreography. It goes surprisingly well. The time off has let his ribs heal more, and with shorter, spaced out practice sessions he’s letting them rest, taking time during breaks to reassess himself.

The first week is the least strenuous, a reintroduction to the training regimen for the weeks following and as grateful as Viktor is, he’s itching to go at it.

He doesn’t. He knows what’ll happen if he pushes himself again and won’t risk a repeat of the European Championships.

“You’re leaving early?” Viktor hears as he’s walking out of the rink one late morning.

Turning, he sees Yuri leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Viktor sighs. “Only for a few hours. Yakov wants me back after lunch to run jumps. Why?”

Yuri scoffs. Clenching his fists, Viktor breathes through the spike of irritation he feels. Since he’s gotten back, Yuri’s attitude hasn’t improved. When Viktor talks with Yakov about the measures they’re taking to keep him healthy, Yuri rolls his eyes and skates away. When Viktor messes up a jump, Yuri huffs. When Viktor talks with Mila or Georgi about the recent trip to Hasetsu, Yuri leaves the room and by now, Viktor’s going from irritated to downright angry. He knows Yura’s been struggling recently, his body’s starting to change and that’s thrown off his balance, but it’s not like that’s _Viktor’s_ fault.

“No reason,” Yuri says, turning to leave.

“Alright then,” Viktor mutters, hefting his gear bag on his shoulder. Lunch at home should be ready when he gets there and Chef Elena has promised Viktor’s favorite roast chicken and vegetable dish. The car’s unusually late, Yulian having not realized how close Viktor was to leaving means he’s just called the driver, and Viktor stands at the curb, checking his nails. In the rare bit of St. Petersburg sun, the golden ring on his finger flashes and he smiles, holding his hand up, fingers splayed, to see it in the light. Sometimes it seems an almost mundane part of his wardrobe but there are times where it glimmers brighter than any medal Viktor’s won, shines on his finger brilliantly, and with a giddy grin, Viktor moves his hand, watching as the light changes.

The sole of a shoe connects painfully with his back, causing him to stumble a few steps as he turns around.

“What do you want, Yura?” he asks his cousin.

Downright pissed for some reason, Yuri glances at his ring. “Still happy about marrying that pig?”

“What?” Angry now, Viktor crosses his arms in front of his chest, smiling cheerfully in lieu of a glare. Yulian stands guiltily to the side, probably feeling bad for not realizing what was going to happen but then, there’d been no reason for him to think Yuri would act like this much of a brat.

“You’re still gonna go back to Hasetsu and babysit him?”

“Babysit?”

They’re close enough to the street to be seen by passing cars, and without a hat, Viktor’s hair is easily distinguishable. An easy target for lurking cameramen. Behind him, the car pulls up and Yulian opens the door.

“Are you jealous?” Viktor continues. “Sad to see me leave St. Petersburg after all these years? Or are you upset that I’m retiring and you won’t be able to compete against me more?”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about that shit, I just think you’re being _stupid,”_ Yuri mutters.

People are starting to slow as they walk by, watching the scene unfold and as much as Viktor wants to figure out what the hell is going on with Yuri, here isn’t the place.

“Get in the car, Yura,” Viktor bites. “Now.”

Yuri snorts. “What, so you’re giving _me_ orders, too? Do you just not give a fuck about what he’s done?”

Eyes narrowing, Viktor leans forward with a cold smile. “Get. In. The. Car.” In all honesty, part of him wants to just grab Yuri and shove him in, but the likelihood that they’ll be filmed increases the longer they stay in the public eye, and something like that would go viral in the worst of ways. They’ve dealt with enough press bullshit that Viktor’s unwilling to cause further issues if he can help it.

“Why?”

“You want answers?”

Yuri nods.

“You’re not getting them here. Get in the car, or run along and go back to practice.” He knows he sounds condescending. Yuri’s being an ass, though, and deserves it, so any guilt Viktor may have felt is very much nonexistent.

With a glance at the street, Yuri nods, crawling into the back seat. Viktor follows, and once Yulian’s firmly situated in the front, they head to the house.

Tense, silent, the drive seems to take unusually long. Yuri stares out the window the entire time, anger written on his face as he slouches in the soft leather. On Viktor’s request, Yulian contacts the house to let Chef Elena know there’ll be a guest for lunch. Viktor himself texts Yakov to make sure Yuri’s stuff isn’t left at the rink if people leave and shoves his phone back in his pocket before Yakov has a chance to respond.

When they arrive, the staff is on their best behavior, likely knowing that Viktor’s not thrilled about something. Part of him dislikes it, he’s never taken his moods out on staff and wouldn’t consider doing so, but that can be addressed at a later time. For now, he asks— _politely—_ that food for him and Yuri be brought to the small dining room in his wing before walking there himself. Yuri follows, slouching, with his hands in his pockets.

Behind closed doors, Viktor looks at his cousin.

“I don’t know where you got the idea that Yuuri’s _done something_ to me. Furthermore, I don’t know why you have a problem with him _now._ You were fine in Hasetsu, and fine when he came to visit.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t know what a fucking _dick_ he was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at you!” Yuri yells. “You can barely fucking skate! You call that bullshit at Euros _‘competing?!’_ You fell flat on your ass. That was the worst performance you’ve given in years and it’s _his fucking fault!”_

“You’re blaming _him_ for _me_ getting injured?!”

“He’s a fucking _liar_ is what I’m pissed about!” Gesticulating wildly, Yuri’s clearly angry. “Who the fuck would trick someone into something like this?! An asshole, that’s who, and that’s what he fucking is! He’s ruining your life, he almost got you _killed!!”_

Something’s about Yuri’s justification doesn’t sit right with Viktor. It’s one thing to blame Yuuri outright for the attack, but with all Yuri’s talk about lying and Viktor being tricked into the situation he’s in when Yuri knows full well Viktor wasn’t forced into the relationship…

“Yura,” Viktor says, voice as calm as he can make it, “what do you _mean,_ ‘tricked me?’”

“No one in their right fucking mind would willingly go along with this sort of bullshit.”

Sighing, Viktor rubs his temples. Yuri’s managing to be almost impressively cryptic and while normally, Viktor wouldn’t pry, if he’s going to clear things up here he’s going to have to.

“How is it, _exactly,_ that he tricked me?” Viktor asks, combing his hair out of his face.

Yuri snorts. “So in love that you can’t see? Fuck, he’s really got you wrapped around his—”

“Yura, just answer the question.”

“You were almost _killed,”_ Yuri says. “They tried to fucking _kill you_ and I bet he fucking _knew_ that might happen.”

Slowly, the pieces start coming together in Viktor’s head. “Do you think I didn’t know about the risk when I stayed with him?”

“You told me yourself, he didn’t tell you _shit_ at the start. And then you fucking found out and shit and what, he promised you sunshine and rainbows and a fancy new title?” Yuri gestures at the house. “Was this what he bribed you with? A fancy fucking house and private jets and servants and shit?”

“They’re _staff,_ first off, we pay them _well_ to do their jobs and second, bribed? Sunshine? Do you think—” It dawns on Viktor what Yuri’s getting at, and he sighs. “You think he _intentionally_ didn’t tell me that there was a risk to being with him?”

Though Yuri doesn’t respond, the look on his face says that’s _exactly_ what he thinks, that Yuuri lied by omission to keep Viktor around instead of disclosing the possibility that he could be hurt. Running his fingers through his hair, Viktor goes to speak when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Waitstaff enters with a cart, serving up their lunches in the awkward silence. After taking their drink orders, the staff members bow and leave them alone. Sitting at the small table, Viktor gestures for Yuri to sit opposite him.

“As pissed off as I am that you’d assume I’m so easily bribed,” Viktor starts as Yuri slouches in his chair, “and that you apparently think I’m stupid enough to not realize that the situation Yuuri was in would mean there’s still some danger, your assumptions about Yuuri are _wrong.”_

“What?”

“The thing is, I knew from the start I could get hurt. The day after I found out who he was, Yuuri told me there was risk, and a few days after that he sat me down to discuss it.”

“He _what?”_ It almost looks like Yuri didn’t consider the possibility that Yuuri would have covered even the worst of what it meant to be with him, and Viktor, as irritated as he is, feels his heart soften.

“Yura, what you need to understand is that I _knew_ about all of this when I decided to stay with Yuuri. The stress, the duties I’d have, the restrictions the Palace would place on me and, yes, the risk of being hurt or killed. I _knew.”_

“You said he didn’t tell you _shit,_ though.”

“Not before we got to Hasetsu, no, and it could have ended very badly for _both_ of us if he had. He’d been forced to hide _everything_ from me, and he wanted to tell me from before we even got together. As soon as he could, he did, and he was _honest._ Before he even _considered_ announcing us to the public, he told me why he’d been on the run, and he told me, very clearly, that there was risk involved in choosing to stay in the relationship with him. And I _chose to stay.”_

“Why? Why stay when you could be fucking killed? It ruined your career! You _lost,_ Viktor! You _never lose!”_ Glaring, Yuuri’s face is red but his eyes betray pain under the anger.

“First off, third place is hardly ‘losing,’ regardless of how close Michele was, and second— I love him. I looked at the situation, weighed the risks, and decided they were _worth it.”_

An attendant enters again with drinks, leaving them on the table before bowing and heading out, closing the door behind them.

“I knew going into this that I could be killed for it,” Viktor continues. “Yuuri made it clear that there would be a lot of powerful people who would be against our relationship and that his family’s been hurt before for not falling into line. He made it clear that he’d do his best to keep me safe, but that there was no guarantee. He wouldn’t _let me_ agree to stay with him before I knew everything, and if I’d chosen not to, he would have let me go without it reflecting badly on me. He made _that_ clear, too. There were no lies, there was no coercion.”

Cutting into his baked potato, Viktor puts a bit of butter and sour cream on it while Yuri mulls things over. His concerns, while understandable, had been entirely off base but Viktor’s not surprised he’d jumped immediately to thinking the conclusions he’d come to were fact. Headstrong and incredibly stubborn, Yuri’s still a kid. Viktor sighs again. “Yura, we all make sacrifices for the people we love. You’ve worked yourself to the bone providing for your family, even though some people might think you’d been forced into skating for that reason. Your grandpa works hard to make sure you can skate and to support you, even when he’s in pain. This is no different, it’s just that the stakes are much higher.”

“And what has Katsudon sacrificed for _you,_ huh?”

“His stability. The respect the nobility in his country had for him, even though their support is important for keeping things running. He could have lost _everything_ if he couldn’t get people to accept us. Yuuri’s been fighting for this relationship for longer than I’ve known he was royal, arguing with the people in charge of his security for months so he could warn me ahead of time. They _didn’t let_ him.” Viktor looks at his little cousin. “Yuuri’s been scared, too. His grandfather was assassinated, they believe, for not following what the nobility wanted and yet he turned around and defied them in the hopes of affecting change, while doing his best to keep me safe. It would have been far easier on him to just end it and marry a Sachiman noble rather than dealing with everything that came with being with me.”

Looking down, Yuri pushes his vegetables around on his plate. As much as Viktor wants to continue emphasizing that Yuuri’s not as bad a person as his cousin seems to think, he doesn’t. Yuri’s smart, he’s heard the facts, and seems to be processing everything while he eats. They’re most of the way through lunch by the time Yuri speaks again.

“So you fucking… knew the entire time?”

“That’s why the engagement was such a secret,” Viktor says. “It’s why Yuuri was so adamant that you keep your mouth shut about it. He didn’t want the wrong person finding out and taking it out on us. Or you.”

“So what happened?”

“The wrong person still found out.”

Frowning, Yuri shoves the last piece of broccoli in his mouth, chewing forcefully as he thinks. “What about before, though? What about him even getting into a relationship before you knew?”

There’s really no reason Viktor should be justifying _everything_ to Yuri, but perhaps doing so will help in the long term. At the very least, Yuri might figure out that people can actually have solid reasons for doing things he thinks aren’t the right course of action.

“Relationships are complicated,” Viktor says. “Even before we got together we were both very much in love and… at that point, Yuuri’s options were either to turn me down when we _both_ knew we wanted this, which would have been painful and I wouldn’t have been able to understand why at the time, or to string me along on the basis of the fact that he _might_ be able to tell me before he went back to Hasetsu, which… would also have hurt, _or_ he could have accepted that we wanted to be together and trusted me to listen to him when the time came and make my own decision about whether or not to stay. He chose the latter. It would have been rough no matter which choice he’d made.”

“Oh.” Seemingly satisfied, Yuri scrapes up the last of the potato on his plate, washing it down with his tea. Now that his assumptions have been straightened out, he seems to have lost the anger he’d been feeling, instead far more subdued. As unusual as it is, Viktor’s grateful and hopes he learns something about asking before jumping to conclusions.

They’re in the car on the way back to the rink when Yuri, staring out the window, sighs. “Katsudon’s really not that bad, huh?”

“No,” Viktor says. “He’s not.”

 

~*~

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” His mother wraps her arms around Viktor from behind, picking up his coffee and taking a sip while she rests on his back. He laughs.

“I have practice, Maman.”

“It’s five in the morning.” Moving, she sits across from him, thanking an attendant who brings her tea.

“Practice starts at six-thirty,” Viktor replies.

“True. You always were a morning person, just like your mother.” Sipping her tea, she’s struggling to keep sleepiness off her face but failing miserably.

“What are _you_ doing up, then?”

“Work. Finishing touches today, before I head home.”

“You’re leaving tonight?” As casual as he tries to make it sound, he knows she can hear the sadness in his voice and she smiles, taking his hand.

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. “We still have tonight, Pupsik.”

Viktor nods. “You could come watch,” he says, looking down. “I should still be practicing later, you could come to Yubileyny if you wanted.”

Smiling, she nods. “I should. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you practicing. I can cheer you on!”

_“Maman.”_

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it in French so no one understands me.”

“That’s not much better,” Viktor grumbles. She knows he’s not actually upset about her going, though, and smiles as she goes back to her breakfast.

 

Sure enough, Viktor’s just landed a quad flip when he hears applause, a lone pair of hands clapping in the arena. Looking over, he sees his mom standing next to Georgi, smiling. He skates to the boards, grabbing his water as he comes to a stop.

“Done for the day?” she asks.

Viktor looks back out at the ice. “I need to run a couple more things, but I’m done after that.”

“Good.” Leaning forward, she kisses him on the cheek and whispers in his ear in French, “we could invite Georgi to lunch; it’s been a while.”

He nods as she pulls back and she turns to his rinkmate and smiles. “Gosha, do you want to come eat with us?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Georgi replies.

“You’re not.” Viktor takes a drink of water, wiping his mouth. “She’s been staying with me, so we’ve had plenty of time.”

“Gosha,” his mother scolds, “it’s been a while. The last time I got to take you and Vitka out you were teenagers!”

Laughing, Georgi nods. “Alright, then,” he says. “Do I need to dress up?”

“No, we’re going somewhere small and not-fancy,” she replies. “Vitka has enough fanciness when he’s at home.”

Yakov yells from across the rink, and with a smile, Viktor skates away.

 

Once he’s showered and back in jeans and a sweater, Viktor meets his mother and Georgi in front of the rink. They walk to a nearby restaurant, one they used to go to every time one or both of Viktor’s parents were in town. Yulian and Sofia follow and Viktor knows one of his other bodyguards walked ahead of them and will be there when they arrive, but no one’s close enough to feel intrusive.

Entering the restaurant, Georgi and Viktor share a smile. It used to be she’d visit St. Petersburg more often than she does now, but with clients moving out of the city and work being more easily done remotely, she hasn’t been as much. With Georgi and Viktor having roomed together, she’d thought it only polite that she take them both out to lunch the first few times and it had become something of a tradition.

They’re seated well away from the window, right next to Viktor’s bodyguards. Before he has a chance to talk to the waiter, his mother calls one over and tells them she’ll be footing the bill, pointedly looking at Viktor as she does. The waiter nods, gives them their menus and takes their drink orders, and walks away.

_“Maman.”_

“Shush, Vitka, I’ve always bought your meals and I’m not about to stop now.”

Viktor debates trying to persuade her to let him pay, but even his mamulya wouldn’t allow it, and she’s usually more reasonable. Resigned, he smiles and looks down at the menu. After they place their orders, his mother asks about Georgi’s plants. More than happy to discuss them, he tells her about the clippings he got in Hasetsu, describes some trouble he’s had recently with soil acidity and watering times. Hilaire ends up pulling concept sketches of floral motifs out of her bag for his input.

Listening to them talk is nice, the lack of pressure to respond moreso, and Viktor settles in as he eats. On occasion, he chimes in, pointing something out. When he was a child his mother had often included him in the designing process, and even when she didn’t use his suggestions, she always took them seriously. Over time, as Viktor had learned more about what did and didn’t work and gained an eye for design, a few of his ideas had made it to the final products. The first time it had happened, he’d felt an almost overwhelming sense of pride, and he smiles fondly at the memory. Needless to say, having a mother who designed and made clothing had directly contributed to him being involved heavily in the design processes for his own costumes over the years, even going so far as to single-handedly design a few in their entirety. He’s still not to the point where he could go about making the patterns and sewing them himself, but his functional knowledge of sewing had meant he’d done a lot of repairs on his own, even for Georgi’s costumes while they still lived together.

Dessert is layered honey cake, light and sweet to go with the coffee they’ve ordered. Hilaire asks about the upcoming competition, how they’re feeling about it, but her face falls when Georgi informs her that the two spots Russia has for Worlds have gone to Viktor and Yuri in light of his scores during the Grand Prix series and at Nationals. Part of Viktor feels bad about it, but there’s no way Russia wasn’t going to send him to Worlds. With Viktor being who he is, even after Europeans, it’s almost inconceivable that they’d have sent anyone else. Viktor’s retiring, though, after this competition and hopefully that will open paths for Georgi to get the acclaim he deserves. He’s talented, incredibly so, but being so close to Viktor in age has meant that he’d been overshadowed almost from the start. Viktor suspects that lately, it’s negatively impacted him more than he’d let on.

Fortunately, though he’s going to Boston with everyone, Georgi isn’t resentful and instead talks about using it as a chance to see the city, explore the United States without the stress and exhaustion of competition hanging over his head. Hilaire agrees that it sounds fun, giving him ideas as to what he might want to try doing in his time there. Despite what people would expect, Georgi doesn’t seem resentful. If he is, he’s never made it Viktor’s problem or taken it out on him, for which Viktor is exceedingly grateful. He can’t count the number of gross looks or unwarranted comments he’s gotten from coaches and other skaters, making a point about how _yet again,_ Viktor Nikiforov’s won in an unsurprising series of events (and how it would be nice if it were someone else for a change).

Hilaire asks if Viktor’s excited to see Boston, and he looks up and nods.

“I didn’t have the chance to do much last time I was there,” he says, “but Yuuri and I want to take some time to go sightseeing.”

“Will you be able to?” Georgi asks. “Don’t you have to plan in advance?”

Viktor shrugs. “Yuuri said we’d have time so I assume he’s arranged it with security already. He can’t be away from Hasetsu for too long, or we’d stay after the competition, but there’s that day off between the short and the free we intend to take advantage of.”

“That boy works too hard,” Hilaire says, sipping her coffee.

“He heads a government,” Viktor replies. “He’s not working as hard as he was when we got to Hasetsu, he’s been doing some restructuring and a lot of his former duties are being taken care of by different departments and elected officials, but he still has to act as king and such.”

“Is he doing more… visits and such?” Georgi asks. “Mingling with the people?”

“Yeah,” Viktor says. “He has a few per week, around normal duties.”

Hilaire leans forward. “You’ll be doing them with him when you go back?”

Looking at his mother, Viktor nods. “I don’t mind. It’s a joy to meet people and see how excited they get. Yuuri’s fairly well-loved by his people and it shows.”

“And you?”

“It… from what I’ve seen, it seems I am, too.” He knows both his mother and Georgi can hear the relief in his voice, and he can see their shoulders relax. After the assassination attempt, things have been tense and they’ve both clearly been worried about his safety. “Ever since the attack, a lot of people have been more vocal in their support of us,” he adds. “The citizenry is pretty progressive, so having the monarchy finally reflecting their ideals is doing far more good than harm.”

“Did they not before?” Georgi asks.

“Who, the monarchy?”

Georgi nods.

Viktor sighs, leaning back. “It’s… it’s complicated. Yuuri’s family has always had fairly progressive ideals, but they couldn’t act on them out of fear.”

Hilaire frowns. “Fear of… what, exactly? Their image being tarnished?”

“The nobility retaliating. Yuuri’s grandfather was killed for trying to force laws that benefited the people, and from what I’ve heard the nobility’s been keeping the family scared and compliant for a while. I mean, they tried to kill Yuuri when he was seven because his dad passed tax laws favoring the majority of the population rather than the rich, and he was gone so long because his family was scared that if he came back, he’d be assassinated.”

“He was a _child!”_ Hilaire almost slams her fork down, causing a nearby waiter to look over with alarm.

“He was a _target,”_ Viktor replies. “I mean… if I was that young and someone’d said you had to do what they said or they’d kill me, and you knew they had the power to, would you risk it?”

After a moment, Hilaire shakes her head. “I wouldn’t,” she says, “you’re right. I’d die before I let them touch you or your siblings.”

Viktor nods. “As far as they can tell, even though being gone was really hard on Yuuri, there’d have been more risk if he’d stayed in Sachima. Rock and a hard place, and all that. They didn’t want him gone, but it was better gone and alive than home and dead.”

“I can't imagine,” Hilaire says. “I just can't, that's a horrible situation.” She looks at Viktor, frowning. “Yuuri's father's death, was that…”

“Natural, as far as anyone can tell. No signs of foul play.”

“Good,” she says. “I mean, not _good,_ but… Better natural than at the hands of an assassin.”

“Yeah,” Viktor whispers. “He barely made it in time to say ‘goodbye’.” He takes a sip of his coffee, before letting out a long breath and looking up. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

He doesn't want to just disregard her concerns, but the topic of conversation isn't one he necessarily wants to keep thinking about. Understanding, Hilaire swallows the coffee she'd been drinking.

“Quite early, around four in the morning. You don't need to wake up to see me off.”

A sense of urgency courses through Viktor and he finds himself leaning forward. “Come say goodbye anyway? We don't have to make a big production of things, I just…”

Knowingly, she smiles. With the most recent conversation it isn't hard for her to guess at how Viktor may be feeling, to understand that he doesn't want to just have her leave and then have something happen. He'd rather the inconvenience of being woken up to ensure the security of telling her how much he loves her, of saying goodbye even if they expect her to arrive safely.

“Of course, Pupsik,” she says. “I'll wake you before I leave.”

Grateful, Viktor squeezes her hand. With dessert finished and the bill paid, Yulian calls the car to come pick them up. Georgi is dropped off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek by Hilaire, and the drive back to the house is quiet.

They share a cup of tea on Viktor’s private balcony, looking out over the estate gardens while an outdoor heater chases away the cold. There isn’t much conversation, though Viktor leans on his mother, lets her run her fingers through his hair as they drink. He’s going to miss her when she leaves, and while he’s been away from his parents for longer he’s found the new closeness of their relationships comforting. Over a year ago, in Detroit, it had been years since he’d contacted them and ever since Yuuri’d told him to just call, he’d never regretted it.

Knowing what he knows now, that Yuuri had, by necessity, gone without regular contact with his family for over a decade before losing his father had thrown things into perspective for Viktor, and he feels grateful every time he has a chance to talk to his parents and siblings. Somehow, he gets into a conversation with his mother about cultural conventions in Akitsushima as compared to Canada and Russia. They talk about food, about interactions in public, how people talk to strangers, how they eat, sleep, interact with family and friends and pretty much anything else that comes to mind. Hilaire has good, thoughtful input, having spent decades in both Canada and Russia, and is more than happy to discuss handling culture shock and code switching and he leans against her as he listens.

Just mentioning that he ought to get to sleep, Viktor is surprised when a member of the staff comes out to tell his mother that they’ll be ready to take her to meet her flight within the half-hour. She thanks them and, chuckling, kisses Viktor’s hair.

“I’d go wake you up, but you never got your butt into bed,” she says, smiling.

Viktor makes a disgruntled noise before pulling back, smiling as she kisses his nose. Yawning, he stands, holding his hand out to help her up. She vanishes into her bedroom to double-check that nothing’s been left behind and to take a quick shower, and Viktor meets her downstairs with a travel mug of coffee and a small box of pastries.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says.

“I’ll miss you too, love, but we’ll be sure to come visit before the wedding.” Handing her coffee and pastries to a staff member, she wraps her arms around Viktor, squeezing as tight as she dares to not hurt his ribs. He holds her for a moment as well, a lump in his throat he tries to fight with reassurances that he’ll see her again soon. Coffee and pastries in hand and a smile on her face, she waves goodbye and gets into the car waiting to take her to the airport. After watching until the car’s out of the driveway and turned the corner, Viktor sighs, thanks his staff, and heads in to get some sleep.

 

~*~

 

Staff is in a flurry when Viktor heads downstairs for a late breakfast. Everything’s been cleaned, polished, and arranged even more perfectly than usual. Frowning, he looks at his phone only to see a reminder notification. Yuuri’s arriving today, and the staff wants the house impeccable, putting finishing touches on the days-long cleaning frenzy they’ve been on. Fresh flowers are brought in while Viktor’s eating, artfully arranged in huge displays strategically placed around the house.

“We apologize for our intrusion,” a pair of attendants say, wheeling a cart into the smaller dining room Viktor’s in. It’s full of the candelabras that had been in the formal dining room— nice, but apparently not suitable for entertaining a King. Personally, Viktor’d rather a more laid-back environment, something casual, but that’s not the way things are done. Not with Yuuri around.

“You’re fine,” he says, smiling. “I understand. Please, feel free to go about your business, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, sir.” Quickly, they leave, likely to complete the next task.

When Viktor goes to shower he sees even his bedroom has been given the same treatment. Everything is nicely tucked away, furnishings polished to gleaming perfection. His sheets have been changed, the windows are open to let the brisk winter air in, and a suit has been laid out on his bed. It’s not the most formal he owns, but it’s definitely not casual, and for Yuuri’s arrival he’s not surprised.

 

Pulling into the airport, Viktor sees press lined up and airport staff ready with a long red carpet. While Yuuri’s visit is in no way political, there’s still a welcoming party ready and waiting for him. It wouldn’t do, Zlata had said, for Russia to show anything less than the best hospitality for such an important guest, regardless of the reason for their visit. Sighing, Viktor picks at his sleeve. While he’d never before been the one to pick Yuuri up from the airport, he wishes it could be just them, that he could arrive, drinks or food in hand, kiss his fiancé and drive him home with a smile, rather than dealing with all of… _this._ Still, they’ll have their time later, after Yuuri’s been shown the house and they’ve had dinner.

The plane finally taxis over, coming to a stop almost perfectly aligned with the staircase they have ready. In a hurry, airport staff adjusts the stairway, rolls out the carpet so it provides a straight path to the car, and the assembled officials stand along it. Viktor gets out of the car once the driver opens the door, adjusting his jacket and waistcoat before making his way to the foot of the stairs. As Yuuri’s fiancé, he’ll be the first to greet him.

At the top of the stairway, the plane door opens and Yuuri steps out as the press start taking pictures. He takes Nori’s leash and waits a moment, eyes meeting Viktor’s and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, before he makes his way down, followed closely by Hana and a few other bodyguards. The way he moves gives no indication of his excitement or the nerves he must be feeling. Instead he gives off a regal air, self-assured and confident. As he reaches the bottom, Viktor bows at the neck and smiles.

“Welcome to Russia,” he says as Nori sniffs around his feet.

“I’m glad to be here. I missed you.” The way Yuuri’s eyes shine belie the small smile he wears for the media. He’s happy to see Viktor again and it’s easy to see under the carefully-constructed facade.

“I missed you too.”

Together, they greet the officials, making their way as quickly as they politely can towards the car. Even there, there’s no real privacy what with bodyguards accompanying them, but they sit flush together just the same. Hopping up on the seat next to them, Nori curls up in preparation for the drive. Yuuri holds Viktor’s hand, rubs the back with his thumb, and they ride together through St. Petersburg.

When they pull up in front of the house the main staff is assembled in two neat lines. After giving Viktor another kiss and silently asking if his circlet’s on straight, Yuuri takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, pausing to let Viktor follow with Nori’s leash in hand. Smiling, Yuuri watches as the staff first bow in unison, and then as the Head Butler approaches.

“Your Royal Majesty,” he says, “it’s an honor to be hosting you over the next few days.”

Ever gracious, Yuuri nods his head. “I’ve heard from my fiancé that your staff is exemplary. I look forward to your hospitality.” With another bow, the butler gestures for them to enter the house.

Makkachin greets them, tail wagging as he sniffs Nori. She’s happy to see him, too, and when Yuuri lets her off the leash she scampers around, jumping on Makka and licking him, letting herself be licked in return. Arms linked, Viktor and Yuuri follow the butler around as he gives Yuuri a short tour. Much like Viktor, Yuuri isn’t taken to the staff wing, but he _is_ shown the kitchens while an attendant makes sure the dogs stay out. The kitchen staff stops and bows when he enters, Chef Elena greeting them with a smile, and Yuuri thanks them for their service before moving on. In each room, he finds something to compliment, taking note of the care with which the house was prepared for his arrival. He’s good at what he does. Yuuri, either through training or his natural kindness (or some combination thereof), manages to put people at ease while maintaining the attitude expected of a monarch.

Once the tour is over, the butler takes orders for drinks and leaves them to themselves. They change, and in considerably more comfortable clothing they go to the sitting room they’d told the butler they’d be in. Despite being in jeans and a button-up under a sweater, Yuuri still wears his circlet and Viktor kisses his brow.

“Why the headwear?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s still technically a royal household. Royal rules apply. Once we’re settling down for the night I’ll take it off.”

Putting his arm around Yuuri’s waist, Viktor nods and kisses his cheek. “Alright, Lyubov. Everything work out?” Nori noses at things around the room as she explores, Makkachin close at her heels.

Eyes shining, Yuuri nods. “I’ve got my stuff with me and I’m ready.”

“Going to the rink with me tomorrow?”

“I emailed Madame Lilia and Yakov and asked,” he replies. “They’re fine with us doing our thing so long as it doesn’t interfere with your practice.”

Smiling, Viktor leans over and kisses him again. “Good!”

Yuuri laughs. “Let’s call my mom; I told her I’d let her know I got here alright and she’s been missing you.”

“Mari hasn’t been missing me?”

Giggling, Yuuri presses a kiss to Viktor’s nose. “She has, I’m sure. She’s been a bit busy, what with catching up on everything she needs to rule while I’m gone.”

“Is your uncle helping?”

“Isamu-ji wants her to try to do it on her own, but he’s made himself available so she can call him if she needs.”

“Will she be calling you?”

“Probably not for anything less than a National Emergency, and even then only if it’s something they absolutely need me for,” he says. “She needs to be able to handle things without me. If… if for some reason something happens to me, she needs to be able to take over. She’ll be fine, Isamu-ji’s got more experience ruling than I do, to be honest. He was taking care of most of my dad’s duties months before he died, and he’d been at his right hand for most of my life.” Though it’s meant to be reassuring, the information is a sobering reminder that while they’re out of the woods as far as Takeda and Yoshida are concerned, Yuuri being unable to rule for some reason, whether injury, illness, or death, is constantly a factor in the Royal Family’s planning. Pulling his fiancé tighter, Viktor nods and kisses his hair, holding him happily as Yuuri pulls out his phone.

 

Dinner that night is taken in Viktor’s private dining room. Smaller than the others, the table is only supposed to seat six, but they sit on two sides of a single corner. Once they’ve been served and wine brought, Yuuri places his circlet on a small pillow he steals from the couch, ready to be put back on if needed but out of the way of the kisses Viktor presses to his forehead. Nori’s curled up on Yuuri’s lap, nose snuggled against his stomach, and Makka lies at Viktor’s feet. Neither of the dogs move when the waitstaff comes in to take their dishes and serve dessert, nor do they move when Hana comes in to say goodnight, and Viktor finds himself reaching down to scratch Nori’s butt on occasion. He’d missed her more than he’d realized, and when he sees Yuuri smiling, he knows his fiancé understands.

Nori’s too short to jump onto the bed on her own and in the rush of travel, Yuuri’d forgotten to ask that something be set up she could use to climb up. Neither of them realize at first, but Viktor glances behind Yuuri and sees little ears appearing and disappearing as she tries to jump. Before either of them have a chance to remedy the problem, Makkachin stands up, jumping off the bed before biting the scruff of Nori’s neck and lifting her up, depositing her safely on the blankets. He jumps up after her, curling up at his normal place at their feet. After inspecting both Viktor and Yuuri, giving them each a lick on the face, Nori steps on Viktor as she goes to sleep next to Makka. Curled up on him, she buries her nose in his fur before settling in.

Giggling, Yuuri looks back at Viktor. “She missed him.”

Lifting his head, Makka gives Nori a final lick on her ear before huffing and settling back in. Viktor nods. “Looks like he missed her too.”

As he wraps his arms around Viktor, Yuuri nuzzles into his chest, intertwining their legs and sighing happily. “I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

“We’ve been apart for longer, Lyubov.” It’s only been a few weeks since the trial, less time than it’d been between Viktor heading to Russia the first time and Yuuri’s birthday, but Yuuri just pulls him closer.

“And?”

Chuckling, Viktor pulls the blankets up further, kisses Yuuri’s hair before yawning. “I missed you, too,” he says. “I know you’ve never been here before but the bed felt so _empty_ without you.” Draping himself over his fiancé, Viktor presses another kiss to his lips before burying his nose in the crook of his neck. As comfortable as the bed is, it’s even better with Yuuri there and part of him is glad he hadn’t known what he’d been missing.

 

~*~

 

Two nights before they leave for Worlds, they have everyone over for dinner. When Viktor’d asked if Chef Elena would be willing to accommodate the request, she’d beamed and reminded him that she loved putting on a proper spread occasionally. A week of careful planning had resulted in a menu Viktor’s relatively sure everyone will like, and with some input from him the staff had decorated the smaller dining room perfectly. Initially, he hadn’t realized how much work would be put into even a small dinner such as this one, meant to be relatively informal, but when he’d apologized Chef Elena had merely laughed from where she was rolling out pastry dough.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she’d said, “it’s our jobs to put stuff like this together, and you haven’t held any sort of event or dinner before. It’s a nice change. That and, if it’s not too bold to say, you can consider it practice. One of Her Royal Majesty’s duties is to do exactly this, though on a larger scale. It’s a good first event for you, I think.”

Smiling, Viktor had nodded and thanked her for accommodating so many people. With a raised eyebrow, she’d looked at him, reminded him that she’s used to planning dinners for several hundred guests, and comparatively this was cakewalk. He’d felt a lot better after that.

Adjusting his sweater, Viktor smiles at Yuuri in the mirror. Yuuri’s just buttoning the waistcoat he’s wearing over a button-up shirt. Paired with dark denim jeans, it’s formal enough for the Palace’s standards while being relaxed enough for a meal with friends. Coming up behind him, Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor’s waist, resting his forehead on his back.

“No circlet?”

“I refused,” Yuuri mutters into Viktor’s shoulder blade. “Not wearing contacts either, they’ve been irritating my eyes and I want a break before Boston.”

“Aren’t you casual?” Viktor chuckles.

Yuuri nods. “What’s the point of being King if you can’t strongarm your staff into letting you be comfortable at a small dinner party with your fiancé’s rinkmates?”

“There isn’t one,” Viktor agrees.

“Exactly!” Raising his head to rest his chin on Viktor’s shoulder, Yuuri smiles at him. “You look spiffy.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s good,” Yuuri replies, kissing his cheek. “I like it.”

 

Georgi and Mila are the first to arrive, Georgi having picked her up on his way here, and when a staff member escorts them into the sitting room where Yuuri and Viktor are waiting they smile.

“They said we weren’t supposed to bow or curtsy or anything,” Mila says, taking her coat off and handing it to an attendant before straightening the navy blue dress she’s wearing.

Yuuri smiles. “I’m trying to keep things as casual as I can.”

“They also said we were supposed to call you by name,” Georgi adds.

Nodding, Yuuri smiles more. “Yup!” Gesturing at the couch across from them, Yuuri invites Georgi and Mila to take a seat. Georgi does, but Mila takes the opportunity to look around.

“So you’ve been living here?” she asks, turning to face Viktor.

He nods.

“Is it your house?”

“No, we’re renting it.”

Mila nods, turning back to the roaring fireplace. She traces her fingers over the large wooden clock on the mantle, intricately carved with traditional Russian designs.

“So who’s been invited?” Georgi asks.

“Just the people I’m familiar with,” Yuuri says. “The two of you, Yura, Mr. Feltsman and, of course, Madame Lilia.” Technically Hana had been as well, but it was her scheduled day off so she and a few other staff members had decided they wanted a night on the town.

An attendant walks in, bowing to Yuuri. “Coach Feltsman, Madame Baranovskaya, and Mr. Yuri Plisetsky here for you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies as they walk through the door.

The attendant bows again. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes, Your Majesty, if you would like to make your way to the dining room.”

He nods, and they leave quietly.

It seems Yuri’s the only person who took “dress casually” entirely literally, and he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a relatively new t-shirt with tennis shoes. Yakov’s in his usual suit, Georgi’s in jeans and a button-up, and Lilia, of course, is dressed well in a cocktail dress. Standing, Yuuri smiles at everyone.

“Welcome,” he says. “I appreciate all of you coming.”

“We appreciate the invitation,” Lilia says with a deep nod.

 

The dining room glimmers in soft lighting, the eight-person table set with gilded bone china, gleaming silverware and clear crystal glasses. After everyone’s taken their seat, ice water is poured and they’re left alone for a short while.

“I thought you said this was casual, Katsudon,” Yuri gripes.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “It is. Comparatively. You’ve seen the Palace.”

When the soup comes out, a steaming borscht at Viktor’s request, red wine is poured as well. Leaning over, Yuuri asks if Yuri ought to be drinking, to which Viktor responds that a cup or two of wine won’t do any harm and Yuri’s likely had it on holidays to begin with. Yuuri nods, turning back to the meal. The soup is good, well-seasoned with the meat cooked to perfection. Somehow over the course of the meal, the topic of conversation wraps around to Mila lamenting her niece destroying her makeup, and Yuuri chuckles.

“I’ve heard I chewed Madame Lilia’s lipstick before,” he says, drawing everyone’s attention.

Yuri snorts. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t remember it,” Yuuri says, “but my mom assured me that’s what happened.”

In near perfect unison, everyone looks at Lilia. Using her napkin, she dabs gently at her lips before nodding. “It is true,” she says. “I was visiting with Her Royal Majesty the Queen, though she was still the Princess at the time, and—”

“Who?” Yuri asks.

“My mom,” Yuuri says. “She only became Queen when I was four.”

Lilia nods. “I was visiting with her and went to leave, and when I picked up my bag it weighed far more than it had before. We looked in, and found His Majesty curled up inside, eating one of my tubes of lipstick.”

“Wait, I was _in_ the bag?”

Nodding, Lilia sips her water. “I made it a point after that to not bring larger bags to the Palace until you were old enough to know not to crawl into them.”

Viktor’s heart does flips in his chest imagining such a tiny Yuuri getting into mischief.

“You were quite adorable,” Lilia continues, “though your mother tells me your face was stained for a few hours after that. Your shirt was ruined, though.”

Yuuri snorts. “Mom never told me that I crawled in,” he says.

“What do you remember of my visits to the Palace?” Lilia asks.

Looking up, Yuuri twists his mouth to the side as he thinks. “I remember you wouldn’t read to me this one time,” he says. “I don’t remember what I wanted read, but…”

“You were three,” Lilia says, “I remember it well. It is not that I was unwilling to read to you, but the only book you wanted read was in Japanese which I’m unable to speak or, obviously, read.”

“Really?” Yuri asks, raising an eyebrow.

Lilia continues, “I tried offering to read something else, and your family tried offering to read to you, but you wanted that specific book and you wanted me, specifically, to read it, and when you established that wasn’t going to happen you spent twenty minutes sitting in the corner looking rejected and making sure I knew it.”

Chuckling, Yuuri smiles at her. “Was I still mad the next day?”

“No, you went with Minako and I to her dance studio and watched us.”

“Ahh, I remember doing that a lot.”

“You smudged the mirror trying to copy us when you were unable to reach the barre, but eventually you grew.”

“Yeah, you used to teach me stuff sometimes,” Yuuri says. “We’d have tea afterwards and sometimes I hid under the table if they tried to get me for something I didn’t want to do.”

“You very frequently hid under our table,” Lilia agrees. “Once because there was a fitting, a few times because you didn’t want a bath, another time because you were playing hide-and-seek with your father and sister…”

“How long did it take them to figure me out?” he asks.

“They didn’t,” Lilia answers. “Your father had refrained from asking us where you’d been, but once it had been half an hour with no word from you he called it quits and had people start searching. He came in, said he couldn’t find you, and we told him we had no idea where you were but pointed at the table so he knew you were underneath.”

“Did he get me?”

She shakes her head. “He merely said he had to get back to work and if we saw you to tell you that you’d won and he’d be in his office if you wanted to see him. You crawled up on a chair after he was gone and asked them to bring you some tea. You were very pleased with yourself.”

The waitstaff comes back in to clear the dinner dishes. Dessert is next, and Chef Elena had worked hard to make individual honey-apple tarts, served with a light dessert wine. Each person is served, and the waitstaff leaves again.

Smiling, Yuuri nods, cuts into his tart. “Do you remember that one time when I was six and you and Minako-sensei took me to the Royal Ballet?”

“I do,” Lilia says. “And I remember you almost falling out of the box trying to get a closer look.”

“Why’d I do that?” Yuuri asks.

“This was part of what led your parents to realize you needed glasses. You kept saying everything was just a blur but the King’s Box was close enough to the stage that it shouldn’t have been an issue.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Yuuri replies.

Mila leans forward. “Did you know Lilia well when you were a kid?”

“It’s not like she babysat me,” Yuuri answers, “but I saw her frequently enough that… yeah, kinda. I spent a lot of time with Minako-sensei, and she’d usually spend time with Madame Lilia when she was in the country so I kind of naturally became familiar with her.”

“Yakov,” Georgi says, “did you know Yuuri when he was young, too?”

Even Yuuri himself looks interested in the answer, and Yakov glances at Lilia. “I met him once, when he was very young.”

“What’d he do?” Viktor asks.

“Sat on my shoe,” Yakov grunts, before going back to dessert.

Yuuri looks positively delighted by the news.

 

While everyone puts their coats on, Lilia walks over to Yuuri with a tin tied with ribbon. “Here,” she says with a small smile. “I made these for you. I thought you would enjoy them.”

Taking the tin, Yuuri nods and unties the ribbon. After setting it down, he lifts the lid, hesitant and unsure, and his eyes widen when he sees what's inside. With a trembling hand, he takes one iced Russian gingerbread cookie out, staring at it. Viktor steps close to him.

“Lyubov, you don't have to,” he whispers. “She'll understand, she won't be upset if you can't, it's fine.” If he'd realized what Lilia was intending, if he'd realized that she didn't know, he would have stepped in, made sure Yuuri wouldn't be put in this sort of position. Lilia's eyebrows furrow and her lips purse as she looks between Yuuri and Viktor.

“I trust her,” Yuuri whispers. “I loved pryaniki when I was a kid and… she _wouldn't._ She’d _never.”_

He's had no problem refusing cookies in the past, has even been relatively impolite about it, but he's not handing them back. Lilia still looks confused.

“Is there a problem?” She asks. Soft and full of concern, her voice carries no irritation.

Viktor looks between them. “Should I explain, Yuuri?”

Shrugging, Yuuri turns the cookie over in his hand. He'd have outright refused if he didn't want her to know, so Viktor leans close to Lilia, whispering in her ear.

Her eyes widen. Looking back at Yuuri, she reaches out. “If you'd rather not—”

There's a crunch as Yuuri takes a bite. Thoughtfully, he chews, eyes glistening, but there's no sign of panic.

“It's just as good as I remembered,” he whispers, barely audible. The cookie had been small, and he puts the other half in his mouth as well. Closing the tin, he hands it to Viktor as he finishes chewing and looks at her. “I… it might take me a long while to eat all of them, but… thank you.”

“Of course. Take your time Your Ma- Yuuri.”

The way his face lights up at the rare show of familiarity echoes the subdued smile she wears as he hugs her. He pulls back, wipes a tear from his eye under his glasses, and gives her a deep nod. “Thank you.”

 

After seeing everyone off, Yuuri thanks the staff for the work they did to bring the party together and tells them they can feel free to take it easy tonight and have whatever they might want from the wine cellar. He thanks Chef Elena in particular for the incredible meal, and she bows graciously while reassuring him that it was her pleasure. Gingerly taking the tin of cookies, Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand as well and walks with him back to the bedroom.

“Are you okay, Lyubov?” Viktor asks when they’re alone.

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Yuuri says, setting the tin on the desk. “I don’t… I’m not sure about other cookies or how often or…” He sighs. “These ones are okay, though. For now.”

“You’re brave, Lyubov.”

“I’m tired of living in fear,” he says, undoing his waistcoat and shirt. “I’m done being scared, and I trust Madame Lilia, and… it felt like a good stepping stone.”

“I’m still proud of you,” Vitkor says with absolute sincerity.

“Thanks,” Yuuri whispers, turning and wrapping his arms around Viktor. “For being there and for dinner. It was really nice.”

“Of course, anything for the love of my life,” Viktor murmurs, kissing his fiancé’s hair.

 

~*~

 

The jet they take to Boston is nice and almost as big as the one they’d taken to St. Petersburg before the attack. There’s a lot of fanfare that comes with them arriving at the airport. Viktor and Yuuri walk ahead of everyone as they go to board the plane, waving to the assembled press with plastic smiles, but once the doors are closed behind them the atmosphere relaxes, if only slightly.

Despite the fact that it’s a thirteen hour flight, it goes relatively quickly. After a nice meal everyone sits and chats for a bit. Yuuri leans on Viktor, more than content to let conversation flow around him. Somewhere around four hours in, Yuuri ends up asleep on Viktor’s shoulders, still somewhat jetlagged, and Viktor holds his shoulder, rubbing it with his thumb.

Most everyone falls asleep eventually, Viktor included, and Hana wakes everyone up several hours before landing for breakfast and so everyone can change for the arrival. As expected, when they land there’s a hoard of people waiting, press and well-wishers alike. The mayor is there, along with a few other officials from the ISO and prominent positions in Boston’s government. Before the doors open, Yuuri purses his lips, looking almost wistful as he gazes out at the skyline.

“Everything okay, Lyubov?”

“It’s weird being back,” he says.

“In the United States?”

“In Boston.” He looks like he’s going to continue but they’re interrupted by one of their bodyguards telling them it’s time to go out. Viktor still doesn’t know the details of Yuuri’s time in the States, but he clearly has memories of the city, and by the looks of it it was more than just a few-days-long stay.

As the doors open, Yuuri straightens his peacoat and his circlet, sets his shoulders back and his chin level with the floor as he buttons his jacket. Next to him, Viktor pulls his gloves on and they head out. Standing at the top of the stairway lets the press take their photos, and it’s only a brief pause before they walk down, heading to where the officials stand.

Stepping forward, Boston’s Mayor dips into a low curtsy before taking Yuuri’s hand. “Your Majesty,” she says, “welcome to Massachusetts.”

With a smile, Yuuri nods. “More of a ‘welcome back,’” he says genially. “It’s not currently public knowledge, but the first place I lived when I was in hiding was here in Boston.” Viktor keeps himself from asking the questions he wants to, instead plastering a smile on his face.

“Is that so?” Surprised, she shakes his hand with extra vigor before taking Viktor’s. “Well, then, welcome back. Mr. Nikiforov, you were here a few years ago when Worlds was held here before, correct?”

Viktor nods. “I was! I’ve been looking forward to returning; the city is beautiful! I didn’t have much time for sightseeing the last time I was out, but I hope to see more of it this time around.”

“We’re honored to have you both here. My staff has worked with yours to ensure security measures are in place. If there’s anything we can help either of you with, please let us know.”

“We will,” Yuuri replies. “Thank you, we appreciate your hospitality.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Again, welcome back to Boston.”

Making their way down the line of officials, Yuuri greets each with a handshake and makes a little small talk before moving on. Though he looks happy to be here, Viktor can see tension in his shoulders and his smile isn’t entirely genuine. He’ll ask about it later, if Yuuri seems up to talking about it.

 

“So you lived here?” Yuri asks as the motorcade drives through the streets. Yuuri looks over and nods.

“I did. Until I was ten, then we moved.”

“We gonna see your old school or some shit?”

“I was homeschooled,” Yuuri responds. “The Palace didn’t trust me not to give us away. I had to learn to act like a normal kid before they’d let me in a classroom. Hana-nee took me around the city a lot, though. We saw almost everything.” Everyone glances towards Hana, sitting at the other end of the limo, and she nods.

“Why did you move if you liked it so much?”

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to,” Yuuri says. “We had to, Security Team said so. There was no way of knowing if someone could trace us, so we switched identities and left.”

“To where?”

Yuuri’s face darkens. “Philadelphia.” Leaning towards the front of the limo he asks, “how long until we make it to the hotel?”

“Just a few minutes more, Sire,” his assistant responds.

Sitting back in his seat, he thanks them and looks out the window. It’s clear he doesn’t want to entertain further questioning, but Yuri looks at him curiously. When he opens his mouth to ask something else, Viktor shakes his head. Though Yuuri doesn’t look away from the window, he must have seen the interaction out of the corner of his eye since he squeezes Viktor’s hand in thanks.

When they get to the hotel, the crowds are larger than Viktor’s ever seen. Word must have spread that Yuuri would be here with him. Looking out the window still, Yuuri sighs and pulls on his gloves. They perform the same sort of song and dance as they had at the airport, but this time there’s plenty of paparazzi doing their best to get pictures of every angle. As they’d discussed, Viktor keeps his arm linked through Yuuri’s, his smile dazzlingly bright as he waves at the crowds. There will be no reason for anyone to say they’re anything but madly in love, nothing that would imply the distance the press loves to claim exists between them.

Hotel staff greets them at the doors to the lobby, smiling as they shake Yuuri and Viktor’s hands but barely giving a second glance to Viktor’s rinkmates. Already, this competition is unlike any other. With Yuuri here, everything is ramped up even more than it would have been. Viktor’s gotten personalized notes from hotel owners before, and is no stranger to the occasional complementary gift basket, but he’s never been greeted quite like this at a competition. As expected, he and Yuuri are in the Presidential Suite with Yulian and Hana in the spare bedrooms, with the rest of Viktor’s rinkmates and their staff in suites the floor below.

Once everyone’s settled in, they meet in the Presidential Suite for dinner and to discuss the upcoming competition. The hotel they’re in doesn’t have a full-time staff for the Suite like the one in St. Petersburg had, however they do send up a chef and small number of cooks to prepare dinner in the private kitchen. With a ten-person table, the dining area is more than large enough to hold everyone comfortably as they eat, and Yuuri keeps quiet while Yakov explains the itinerary and what he expects from each of his skaters. In the casual environment he allows himself to relax, some. Normally-impeccable manners are set to the wayside as Yuuri rests his elbow on the table, propping his head up as he takes slow bites. Lilia keeps glancing in his direction but he ignores her in favor of his vegetables.

When it comes time for dessert, hotel staff bring out pieces of a fresh-baked apple pie, each with smooth vanilla ice cream on top. During the time staff are in the room, Yuuri sits properly, making sure to thank them as they go to leave. Once the door’s closed behind them, he leans on his elbow again, stabbing pieces of pie with his fork before putting them in his mouth, silent even as Yakov finishes giving them the run-down. Quickly, conversation turns from skating to a heated discussion of some hockey team Mila’s fond of and Yuri’s opinion that hockey is a brutish sport.

After pushing his plate away, Yuuri leans on Viktor, snaking one arm around his waist. Viktor presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Tired?”

Yuuri nods. “Barely got used to St. Petersburg and now we’re in the States.”

“Hey, Katsudon.”

Lifting his head to look at Yuri, Yuuri raises one eyebrow. “What?”

“What’re good restaurants here? Beka and I wanted to find somewhere to eat.” Though Yuri looks petulant as ever, something in his eyes is softened and Viktor smiles. Having a friend is good for his little cousin, giving Yuri some form of outlet and emotional support that isn’t dependent on his rinkmates or the adults in his life. No one at the rink had found out he’d even _made_ a friend until a few weeks ago, but now that Mila’s stopped giving him grief, Yuri’s not so shy about mentioning it.

Pursing his lips, Yuuri frowns. “I don’t know.”

“The fuck do you mean, you ‘don’t know?’ You used to _live here.”_

“When I was _eight._ I was young enough that I wouldn’t remember and I wasn’t allowed to eat at restaurants very often anyway, the Palace had to look into any we wanted to try.”

“What the fuck?” Yuri scoffs. “Did they tell you when you could shit, too?”

“Yuri Plisetsky!” Lilia sets her silverware down as she glares at the teenager. “Mind your manners.”

Waving a hand, Yuuri tells her it’s fine. “The Palace controlled anything that could get me hurt or killed. Poisoning’s a thing, even unintentional food poisoning. So no, they didn’t tell me when or where I could take a shit, but they _did_ tell me where I could eat. When I lived here it was soon after I left and I was young enough they figured it was better safe than sorry.” His tone, while not angry, says he’s not thrilled to be answering these sorts of questions. Thankfully, Yuri seems to pick up on it and settles down.

“Anything you _would_ suggest?” he asks, pushing at the last bit of pie crust he refuses to eat.

“It’s a beautiful city. Take a tour, visit the museums. Go to Faneuil Hall Marketplace and do some shopping. Google ‘things to do in Boston’ and go wild.” Glancing at his watch, Yuuri sighs. “As it’s getting late and I’m still dealing with jetlag, I should probably be getting to bed soon. You’re all free to stay here as long as you like, but I’m going to go take a shower.” He stands, with only Lilia following suit before he gestures at her to stay seated. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to Viktor’s lips. “I’ll see you later,” he murmurs. “I’ll be in the bath.”

Viktor nods. “I’ll be in soon, Lyubov.” It’s clear Yuuri’s upset about something, and also that he’s trying not to take whatever mood he’s in out on everyone else, so Viktor just smiles reassuringly and waves when Yuuri glances back, and then he vanishes.

“What’s his deal?” Mila asks.

“He’s tired,” Viktor answers, “and we have to be up early tomorrow for the competition.”

“He looked upset,” Georgi says.

Meeting his eyes, Viktor shrugs. “He gets grumpy when he’s tired. He’ll be fine.”

 

The shower isn’t running when Viktor’s finally seen everyone off, but Yuuri isn’t in the sitting room or the bedroom. Approaching the bathroom door, Viktor sees it closed and knocks. From inside, Yuuri calls for him to come in and when he enters, he sees him soaking in the bathtub, surrounded by aromatic bubbles. The open window behind him offers a glittering view of the city and its skyline, the moon reflecting off the distant water of the harbor.

“You okay?” Viktor asks.

Looking down at his hands under the water, Yuuri nods. “Yeah. It’s… harder than I thought it would be, being back here.”

“Did you miss it or…”

Yuuri shrugs. “Sort of. It’s… I liked it here. But it was the first place I went after I ran and I kinda… there are a lot of memories, good and bad.”

Kneeling on the floor outside the tub, Viktor leans over, kissing Yuuri’s cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuuri shrugs again. “I mean, there’s not much…” He sighs. “I haven’t really talked much about my time here, huh?”

“Not really.”

“You must be curious.”

“Yes, but if it’s too painful I’m not going to push it.” Viktor wants to know, is _incredibly_ curious as to why Yuuri’s so upset, why Yuri asking where he’d moved to had dampened his mood so much, but at the same time, Yuuri’s barely covering his emotions when he’s usually so good about it.

“I had to learn to be normal here,” Yuuri says. “I was terrified, I thought any second someone would jump out and hurt me. I… getting used to an entirely new lifestyle wasn’t easy and I was a scared little kid to begin with.”

“Supermarkets?”

Chuckling, Yuuri nods. “We actually passed it,” he says, “the one I got scared in at first. There was other stuff, too. Mostly I just remember being scared and wanting to go home. The first year without my family was the hardest.”

“Understandable. We can make new memories, if you like.”

With a wry smile, Yuuri looks at him. “I love you,” he says, sitting up. Viktor holds out his towel when he stands but Yuuri dips into the separate shower to rinse off before taking it and drying off so they can get ready for bed.

 

~*~

 

Surprisingly, when Viktor wakes up Yuuri isn’t in bed. Groggy, he rubs at his eyes, checks the time on his phone to make sure he’s not running late at all for the competition, and climbs out of bed, wrapping a robe around him. He finds Yuuri on the patio outside with a steaming cup of tea, looking out over the park and city around them. Wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist, Viktor leans on him, resting his head on his fiancé’s shoulder.

“Something on your mind?”

Yuuri hums, turning to kiss Viktor’s cheek before looking back at the city. “Not really. Just looking.”

They stand together for a few moments while the sun finishes rising, but Yuuri shifts, pointing at the park below. “That’s the Boston Public Garden,” he says softly. “Nee-chan and I used to go for walks through there a few times a week. There and the Commons, just over there.”

“We should go,” Viktor suggests. “You can tell me stories.”

“We’ll have to make sure our bodyguards are up for the task,” Yuuri responds. “American paparazzi can get… well, they’re determined, I’ll give them that.”

“True.”

“That and you have your competition.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to go sightseeing,” Viktor says.

“Speaking of, how long until we have to be at the arena?”

Lifting Yuuri’s left hand, Viktor checks the time on his watch. “Two hours. Enough time for breakfast and a shower.”

Yuuri nods. “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll ask the staff to come make us breakfast, yeah?”

“Mmmm.”

“Vityusha, you have to get ready to compete, come on. I thought you were a morning person.”

“I thought _you_ weren’t,” Viktor mutters. Turning in his arms, Yuuri presses a kiss to his lips, eyes alight behind his glasses.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he says, “you have a World Championship to compete at.”

Grumbling, Viktor kisses him again, smiling despite the exhaustion.

 

Their arrival at the venue is heralded by screams of fans and swarms of press, far more than Viktor’s experienced in the past. Luckily, security seems well-suited to the chaos, keeping people at bay easily while Viktor and Yuuri get out of the car. Though he’d prefer to carry his own things, as he’s with Yuuri public image is more important than usual, so Viktor zips his Russian National Team jacket up the rest of the way and waves at his fans, letting staff take care of his things. Dressed in a suit and a circlet, Yuuri waves as well, smiling. He’d wanted to wear jeans and a button-up, but the Palace had insisted that an outfit like that was far too casual for a public appearance, regardless of the nature, so Yuuri’d grudgingly dressed in the grey three-piece he wears now, circlet proudly in place.

As with anything, they stand to let the media take their photos before walking in. Yuuri is given a lanyard to wear along with his bodyguards, guaranteeing access to every area of the compound Viktor has access to. It’s excessive, but it seems the ISO is taking no chances. Yuuri puts his lanyard on, proudly, brushing off his assistant’s attempt to hold onto it. She insists that he shouldn’t be seen wearing it, and he insists that if Viktor has to wear one, he’ll wear one. He is, after all, Viktor’s guest here and happy about it. His assistant acquiesces without argument, handing Hana the badges for their staff.

Yakov shuffles Viktor over to do pre-competition press, Yuuri following closely and standing at Viktor’s side. It seems the reporters aren’t entirely sure of what to do, glancing between Viktor and Yuuri, and after a few routine questions as to how Viktor’s feeling (better, having taken more care with training this time around) and how he feels about the last competition (still proud, and grateful he was able to compete at all), they turn to Yuuri.

“Your Majesty,” one says as Yuuri finishes pulling off his gloves, “what prompted you to attend this competition?”

Yuuri smiles, handing his gloves off to his assistant. Viktor doesn’t miss everyone glancing at the ring on his finger. “I’m here to support Viktor,” he says. “It’s long been my desire to attend one of his competitions in person, without having to hide, and my schedule was able to accommodate coming to Worlds to see his last performances before he retires.”

“It’s our understanding you’ve seen him in person before, what’s changed?”

“His programs, for one,” Yuuri answers. “And I don’t have to keep to the shadows and avoid the media, instead able to openly be by his side.”

“Phichit Chulanont is here representing Thailand, are you excited to see your former roommate’s performances as well?”

Yuuri nods. “I am! I’ve been unable to accompany Phichit to any of his competitions so far, so this is an exciting opportunity to support him, too. Phichit and I are still close friends, and we’re _both_ happy I was able to make it to Boston.”

“Are you enjoying seeing the city, Your Majesty?”

Yuuri’s looking more uncomfortable by the second, but still, he smiles. “I am, but I’d like to refrain from commenting further,” he says. “I’m really just here to support my fiancé as he skates.” Pointedly, he smiles at Viktor, turning his entire body towards him in an attempt to redirect their attention. Seeming to get the hint, the media shift their focus back to Viktor as well.

“Mr. Nikiforov, considering your fiancé’s status, how many bodyguards do you have here with you?”

Crossing his arms, Viktor puts on a press grin. “I’m unable to disclose anything about our staff and security detail, for safety reasons.”

“Do you expect to do well this competition or are you still struggling with the aftermath of your injuries?”

Looking at the reporter, Viktor considers biting back but at the same time, at least they’re back to asking about the competition. “I’ve been working closely with my coaches and medical staff to train safely, and I can say that I’ve been doing better in recent practices than I had been just before the European Championships. Hopefully, that will carry over to my performance today!”

“Any words for your competitors?”

“I hope to see them skate their best! The programs this year are diverse and well-suited to my competitors’ personalities, and I feel that will only help them in competition.”

Yakov walks over, looking at the reporters. “If you’ll excuse us, Vitya needs to warm up. He’ll be available for questions after the short program. Your Majesty, you’re welcome to accompany us.” With a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, Yakov steers him away, Yuuri following closely. While propriety normally demands Viktor walk behind his fiancé, Yuuri makes no effort to move ahead of him. Especially as he has no idea where they’re going.

Soon enough, they’re in the area restricted to competitors and those with them. Looking around, Viktor sees everyone stretching and warming up, many with headphones doing their best to ignore everyone else. When people notice Viktor, they do a double take when they realize who’s with him. For a moment, almost everything comes to a stop.

“Your Majesty!” Phichit’s voice comes from the other end of the hall and he jogs over, giving a short bow at the neck. Beaming, Yuuri pulls him into a hug.

“Phichit, it’s good to see you! How’ve you been?”

“You know, practicing and whatnot. Your godchildren are doing well.”

Laughing, Yuuri hugs his friend again before backing off. “Good to hear. I ought to send them some presents sometime, I miss them.”

“I’d have brought them with me but, you know, travel.”

Yuuri nods. “No, I get it! I think there’s gonna be a State Visit to Bangkok sometime in the next couple of years, I should visit them.”

“And me, right?”

“I _guess,”_ Yuuri says. “If I have to.”

Taking the good-natured teasing in stride, Phichit grins. Looking at Hana, he flashes a wave and she smiles and waves back from where she stands by the door. He takes his jacket off, revealing a red and gold costume that shines even in the relatively subdued lighting before he pulls out his phone. Knowing what Phichit’s after, Yuuri leans in close, smiling as he takes a selfie. Immediately after, Phichit’s posted it to Instagram and Viktor pulls the app up on his phone to like it. Celestino enters the area at the other end, looking around before figuring out what Phichit’s up to. When he sees Yuuri, he smiles and makes his way over.

“Ciao ciao, Yuuri!”

“Ciao Ciao, you have to use his title,” Phichit says. Yuuri looks distinctly uncomfortable but makes a reluctant ‘he’s right’ gesture, and Celestino nods.

“How have you been? Have you been keeping up on skating?”

“I have,” Yuuri answers, smiling. “I’ve had time over the last few weeks to skate a bit more than usual, and I’ve been taking advantage of it.”

“Good to hear! Remember, if you need any help or anything, you have my number.”

Nodding, Yuuri smiles more. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you! And thanks again for letting me skate with everyone in Detroit, it… really helped.”

It seems Celestino knows something about Yuuri’s anxiety and how he uses skating to help because his smile turns into something softer and a bit more kind as he nods. “Of course. Any rink I’m at, you’re welcome in. Viktor, it’s good to see you, too.”

Smiling, Viktor nods and shakes his hand. “It’s been a while,” he laughs.

An announcement comes over the loudspeakers, reminding the skaters they have only a few more minutes before on-ice warm-ups start, and with a reluctant smile, Phichit hugs Yuuri one last time.

“Gotta do my thing,” he says. “You’ll be watching from the boards, right?”

“Of course! You’ve got this. Have Ciao Ciao get me when it’s time for you to go on.”

Nodding, Phichit follows Celestino back to where his mat is laid out on the floor, sitting so he can finish stretching. Viktor should be warming up, so he kisses his fiancé and smiles. “I should probably go, as well.”

“I’ll stay with Yakov,” Yuuri says. Viktor nods in response, and puts his headphones in to warm up.

 

Yuuri vanishes with Lilia to watch Phichit skate his program and comes back beaming. His happiness is infectious and Viktor can’t help but smile when Yuuri approaches.

“How’d he do?”

“Really well!” Yuuri says. “Beat his personal best by a _lot._ He has two quads now, did you know?”

Eyes wide, Viktor shakes his head. “I didn’t! I’ll be sure to congratulate him when I see him again.” Phichit’s determination has always been admirable, and it’s paying off with dividends. Long has Viktor known Phichit could rise to the top tier of competition, and it seems he’s well on his way. It’s only a few minutes more before Yakov comes over to tell Viktor to make his way to the arena.

Yuuri looks almost giddy, though it’d be hard to tell if you didn’t know him. The smile on his face is genuine, the sparkle in his eyes excited, and the way his hand twitches tells Viktor that he wants to hold his, but they refrain.

Seung-Gil is still skating his program when they get out there, and Viktor takes the moment to double-check the brace on his wrist. Standing close, Yuuri smiles.

“Can I hand you my guards?” Viktor asks. Yuuri glances around the arena and purses his lips.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “Best to hand them to Yakov, I’m just here to look pretty and cheer you on.”

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “May I kiss you, Velichestvo?”

In response, Yuuri presses a chaste kiss to Viktor’s lips, ignoring the sound of camera shutters. He’s surprisingly at ease with the press around. Of course, he’d said before that he’d gotten used to being on camera in public at a young age, so it would make sense he doesn’t mind the press when they’re not harassing him, especially this long after his return to public life. Seung-gil leaves the ice and heads to the Kiss and Cry while the sweepers clean it for Viktor’s performance. Handing off his jacket and hard guards, Viktor steps into the rink but stays by the boards, listening to the last of Yakov’s pre-competition pep talk. When the ice is clear and his name is announced, Viktor meets Yuuri’s eyes and they clasp their right hands, rings glimmering in the light of the rink before Yuuri lifts Viktor’s hand and kisses the gold on his finger. Whispering spreads through the crowd. They must be on the jumbotron, but neither of them have eyes for anything but each other.

“Davai, Vityusha,” Yuuri says softly.

With a grin, Viktor nods. Yuuri’s here to watch him perform _Eros,_ and he’ll make sure it’s a performance Yuuri never forgets. When his name is called, Viktor pushes away from the boards, greeting the audience with waves and a flourish as he skates in all sorts of directions. Cheering roars through the stadium, banners and flags being waved as the crowd greets him. Skating towards the center, Viktor takes a deep breath and focuses.

Eros. Yuuri. He’s done this before, and done it well, but now is the time for him to make a statement.

Taking deep, surprisingly painless breaths, he comes to a stop in the center of the ice and kisses the ring on his finger. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuuri do the same and a thrill goes through Viktor as he takes his opening pose, hip cocked and arms at his sides. As the Spanish guitar rings through the air, he runs his hands down his body, up and over his head and he kicks the ice as he smirks at his now-blushing fiancé. The violin comes in, the melody quick and lively and Viktor throws himself into his performance.

Swirling across the ice his legs and arms move in almost perfect unison. Every beat, he hits. Every change in the music, he matches in a fast-paced step sequence he prides as one of his best. In recent practices, he and Yakov had bumped up the jump difficulty, pushing most of them towards the end of the performance to maximize the points he’ll earn and between that and his training to improve his stamina, he feels his confidence grow.

He goes into his first combination spin before moving to gain speed for the first triple axel. Almost immediately after, he moves into a quad Salchow, quad loop combination that he lands perfectly. His already-strong excitement grows, coursing through his body from head to toe and he releases it in a burst as he jumps his signature quad flip. With the speed he’d gained he soars through the air, completing four full rotations before his blade meets the ice with a solid _crack._ The thrill of performance and the knowledge that Yuuri is there, is _watching,_ helps push him through the dull ache in his ribs as he reaches the center of the rink and goes into another combination spin.

Coming to an end, the music reaches its final crescendo and Viktor moves out of the spin, swirls across the ice as he imitates throwing everything aside for his love and spins into his final pose, arms wrapped around himself as he breathes hard. A flawless performance, and the crowd screams its approval. Gently rubbing his ribs, Viktor grins with the thrill of the knowledge that he’d skated well, possibly better than he has in the past. Almost euphoric, he greets the audience, bowing in all four directions before skating to the side of the rink amidst a shower of roses and stuffed poodles.

Standing next to the exit, Yuuri’s flushed, his eyes shining as he does his best to keep his grin from being too wide.

“That was incredible,” he says. “Absolutely amazing!”

“You liked it?” Viktor takes his guards from Yakov, knocking the ice off his skates as he bends to put them on. His ribs twinge, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it had been at Euros. He’ll take painkillers to be sure he can get through talking to the media, but a huge part of him is relieved.

“Of course I liked it, Vityusha, you were… I mean, holy shit.”

“Vitya, let’s go to the Kiss and Cry,” Yakov says. “Ka— Bring your fiancé.”

Yuuri snorts unflatteringly at the misstep, but smiles as Viktor pulls his jacket on.

Sitting on the bench in front of the cameras, Yuuri keeps his posture impeccable but holds Viktor’s right hand in his left as they wait for the scores. Viktor squeezes his hand in return, almost giddy with delight at the situation in general before his score is read out.

Eyes wide, Viktor looks at the screen in front of him to confirm as the announcer’s voice rings through the arena, letting everyone know he’d beaten the World Record Yuri’d taken from him at the Grand Prix final. It’s only by a point or so, but it’s a new Record nonetheless and pride wells up in his chest.

“Amazing,” Yuuri whispers, before looking over. “Vityusha, you’re _amazing.”_ Leaning over, he presses a kiss to Viktor’s lips, squeezes his hand harder as he smiles. The crowd cheers, the cameras flash, and Viktor loves every second of it.

 

At the end of the Short Program, Viktor’s in first place and where before it had felt mundane, now it feels like an accomplishment. After Euros, the figure skating world had argued about his ability to make a comeback, had thrown doubts at his chances at Worlds every opportunity they got but this proves his doubters wrong. This proves he still has the skill and physical ability to triumph.

Under strict orders from the ISO to keep their inquiries competition-related, the press is relatively well-behaved. There’s no doubt in Viktor’s mind that the backlash after the spin on Yuuri’s words of support is also contributing. None of them want to risk losing press access, especially not when Viktor’s risen once more to the top of the figure skating world.

 

~*~

 

The next day, Viktor starts with a couple hours of practice on the ice. He runs through his free skate, works on his jumps, and can feel the eyes of the other skaters on him as he does his best to focus. Where before they’d been randomly assigned groups, now it’s the people at the top of the current lineup skating together. Chris stands to one side, talking to his coach. Phichit is at the other end of the rink with a few of the younger skaters, chatting, and JJ and Yuri shoot glares at each other while they work on step sequences. Yuri seems decidedly frustrated, his movements aren’t as sure as they had been before, and his jumps are shakier. Puberty’s hitting him hard and Viktor grimaces. It likely contributed to his struggle at Europeans, and seems to have only gotten worse over time if his short program score is any indication. On occasion, everyone glances at the seats along one side of the rink, where Yuuri sits with his bodyguards and watches. He’s still in a suit, albeit with a different circlet today, but his posture is as regal as one would expect.

Viktor knows Yuuri’s struggling to contain his excitement. After his final run-through, Yakov calls him over and gives him a few tips while Yuuri makes his way to the boards. When he’s finally free, Viktor pulls on his skate guards and smiles at his fiancé.

“So what’s the plan?” Yuuri asks.

“First I shower and change, and then you take me sightseeing,” Viktor says. “We have memories to make, Velichestvo.”

Grinning, Yuuri nods. “Of course, Vityusha,” he replies.

As they’re going to leave, Viktor hears his name called. Turning, he comes face-to-face with Chris, who gives him a small smile as he approaches. Whatever Chris was going to say gets caught in his throat when he glances at Yuuri.

“Hi,” he says. It’s almost awkward, lacking the smooth sensuality with which he’s greeted Yuuri before, but Yuuri just grins.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he says, holding out his hand.

Taking it, Chris shakes it. He hesitates a moment before letting Yuuri’s hand go, covering the hesitation with a smile. “It’s nice indeed. I was wondering if I could borrow Vitya for a moment?”

After Viktor nods his assent, Yuuri gives a sort of ‘go ahead’ gesture. “Absolutely. I can wait here, I don’t mind.”

Chris smiles gratefully before pulling Viktor a couple of meters away. There’s no telling what it is he wants, but based on the last few interactions Viktor’s on guard. Crossing his arms over his chest, he raises one eyebrow as Chris takes a deep breath.

“Vitya, I…” Hesitant, he looks down at his hands. More than prepared for some remark or another about winning, Viktor’s surprised that he seems so nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says in French. “I… I talked things through with a friend and… all of these years I’ve wanted to beat you, yes, but I didn’t realize I’d made you into a goal to be beaten rather than treating you like a competitor.”

Surprised, Viktor keeps his face as neutral as he can, letting Chris finish. “I’ve enjoyed competing against you,” Chris continues. “My _entire career_ I’ve looked up to you, especially after I’d first met you at Europeans, and beating you was definitely my motivation for a while, but I shouldn’t have turned _you_ into my motivation. I didn’t realize how that might feel.”

Viktor smiles uncomfortably. “It’s fine!! I’m happy I could—”

“No, it’s not,” Chris interrupts. “At Euros this year I’d wanted to help out as a friend, and I was happy to do so, but when you yelled at me… I realized how hurtful it must have been. All I ever talked about was winning and I thought I’d meant it as a joke, but you know how repeating something over and over can make it true.” Viktor nods, feeling his heart soften. Chris’ apology is sincere, heartfelt, and there’s guilt in his expression as he talks. “I felt my motivation for next season fall with your retirement announcement and… well, my motivation should be my desire to take the gold for myself,” he says, “not… not you, and not anyone else.”

“Thank you.” Viktor feels a tug at his heart as he looks at his competitor, the sensation of an incredible weight being lifted. He hadn’t realized until recently how it had been affecting him, but knowing now that Chris sees the situation for what it was and is genuinely remorseful helps more than he’d have thought. There’s an awkward moment of silence before Viktor sighs. “You’ve grown a lot since we met,” he says. “As a competitor, and as a person. I’m proud of you. I’m happy to call you a friend.” He knows he’ll likely never be exceedingly close with Chris, but this is a step in the right direction. For years, they’d been a close sort of casual acquaintance and it had been nice when Chris hadn’t been harping on his desire to win. There’s no reason Viktor would mind keeping in contact, especially not now, and he does his best to give a reassuring smile. Grateful, Chris returns it.

His body language tells Viktor that Chris knows there’s still a lot of hurt under the surface, he’s clearly being cautious in the familiarity he shows, but there’s less tension in his shoulders. Less hesitation in the way he takes Viktor’s outstretched hand, giving it a firm squeeze. A meter or so away, Karpisek taps on his watch and Chris nods in confirmation before looking back at Viktor.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Enjoy sightseeing with Coffee Boy.”

Viktor smiles. “I will. Chris?”

“Yeah?” Just turning to leave, Chris looks back at Viktor.

“I mean it,” Viktor replies. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Chris flashes a smile and a wave at Yuuri before walking over to meet his coach.

“Everything alright?” Yuuri asks when Viktor approaches.

“Yeah,” Viktor responds, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead below the circlet. “Everything’s good.”

 

After a stop at the hotel to shower and change, they’re both in suits for a walk around town. The Palace had insisted Yuuri wear a circlet, but with the cold weather he brought up that a hat might be better as far as keeping warm. They’d acquiesced, allowing a felted brimmed hat, and Yuuri shrugs happily into his peacoat as Viktor adjusts his scarf.

They set out on foot. Their first stop is the public gardens, snow-dusted as they are. Hand in hand, they walk around while their bodyguards keep a good distance. It seems the press hasn’t figured out they’re walking around town, but their bodyguards will intercept any attempts to interrupt their time together. They’re almost through the Commons when Yuuri comes to a sudden stop, looking over at an older woman standing near a statue.

“No fucking way,” he whispers.

“Velichestvo?”

Grabbing Viktor’s hand, Yuuri makes a beeline for the statue. “This can’t be happening.”

“Velichestvo, what—” Viktor doesn’t have time to finish the sentence before Yuuri approaches the woman.

“Mrs. Holloway?”

She looks up with a start, smiling when she sees Yuuri. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I just… you taught me in middle school? In Philly, you were my social studies teacher. I, uhh,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, before smiling again. “Hiro Kobayashi,” he says, “I was in Mr. Brewer’s homeroom class.”

Her eyes widen as she smiles. “Hiro! It’s good to see you again, you disappeared so suddenly!! They said your grandmo—”

“Holy shit, Yuuri Katsuki?!” A man about Yuuri’s age walks over, holding a cup out to Yuuri’s former teacher. She takes it, thanking him, before frowning.

 _“Dustin,”_ she says, “this is my former student, Hiro Kobayashi, just because he looks like someone you know doesn’t me—”

“No, Aunt Rosemary, this is _definitely_ that dude from my high school I was telling you about, the one that was secretly a prince or some shit. Remember?”

Both of them look at Yuuri, who smiles sheepishly. “He’s right, Mrs. H. I, uhh. You remember that whole thing about me getting upset when we were reading those articles you had? With the Crown Prince of Sachima disappearing and all.”

“I do.” Her eyes widen in realization. “Oh, honey, no _wonder_ you freaked out so much, we were talking about _you.”_

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, that’s… that’s why I vanished. The Royal Palace figured you’d probably put two and two together and figure me out so I had to change my identity and leave.”

“Your sister told the school it was a family emergency.”

Yuuri shrugs. “She lied, and Hana— _Chiyo—_ was actually my bodyguard. I… I mean, people were trying to kill me so she had to keep me hidden and that was probably the best excuse she could come up with that wouldn’t make people even _more_ suspicious.”

“So you moved to Michigan?”

“Chicago, actually, for a few years. I went by Asahi Maeda there, but then when I went to Alpena I started using my real first name, Yuuri. Katsuki was a fake name.”

“You _motherfucker,”_ Dustin says, “it fucking _was_ you.”

“Dustin!”

“No, he’s right,” Yuuri laughs, turning towards Viktor. “You remember how I said some kid joked about me sharing… well, me sharing my first name and what if I’d secretly been royalty?”

Mouth agape, Viktor nods.

“Well, that was Dusty over here.”

“I didn’t expect to fucking be _right,”_ Dustin says, running his gloved hand through shaggy blond hair, “holy shit.”

“I didn’t expect you to be related to my middle school teacher either,” Yuuri retorts, “but here we are.”

Laughing, Dustin nods. “That was… I just pulled the most harebrained theory I could out of my ass and I was fucking right! God, that must have been nerve-wracking though, what with the guide and shit.”

“It _was!_ I was so scared, I thought I’d have to just move again without any notice, you have no _idea_ how fucking terrified I was that you guys would actually figure shit out.” From the conversation so far, it’s not hard to put the pieces together.

Yuuri’d said before there had been a slip-up, that he’d been yanked away from his home with no warning or preparation, and much of his anxiety after he’d gotten back to Hasetsu said it had been near-traumatic, if it wasn’t actually. It must have been Philadelphia where that’d happened, and it’s no wonder why he’d disliked even mentioning the city. Wrapping his arm around his fiancé, Viktor offers his silent support.

Rosemary looks at Yuuri, smiling. “Well, it’s good to see you again. Is this your boyfriend, Hir— I mean, Yuuri?”

“Aunt Rosemary I think it’s ‘Your Highness,’ now.”

“It’d actually be ‘Your Majesty,’” Yuuri corrects. “I, uhh, I’m King. My dad passed away a while back.”

“I remember now,” she says solemnly. “My condolences, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. ‘Yuuri’ is fine, though, right now.” She nods, eyes flicking over to Viktor and Yuuri looks up at him, smiling. “This is my fiancé, Viktor Nikiforov. He’s a figure skater for Russia, here to compete in the World Championships.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Viktor says, shaking first Yuuri’s teacher’s hand, and then his former classmate’s.

“I've seen your shit during the Olympics,” Dustin says. “You're good.”

“Thanks,” Viktor replies with a smile.

Rosemary smiles. “Is Chiyo with you now? Or… Hannah? You said her name was? She’s your bodyguard, right?”

“She’s on the trip,” Yuuri answers, “but today’s her day off, she’s catching up with a few people around town.”

“Well, tell her I say ‘hi,’ and that I’m sorry if I caused any problems.”

“You didn’t cause problems, my security team was just being extra careful. I’ll let her know you said ‘hello,’ though. Are you on a field trip or something with your class?”

Nodding, she smiles. “Or something. My eighth graders will be coming here on the yearly field trip later in the semester, I'm doing some planning right now.”

“Ahh, I wish I could have gone when I was in school with you, but the Palace wasn't letting me on field trips back then. And I left before I was old enough.”

Dustin smiles. “Hey, question. Are people really named after you and shit or was that an excuse?”

Scratching the back of his head, Yuuri smiles. “No, that actually… is a thing that happened. Tons of people were named after me, so I wasn't lying.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

“Isn't it weird?”

With a shrug Yuuri says, “not really, I'm used to it by now.”

“God, this is so fucking _weird,”_ Dustin says. “Everyone from our class flipped their shit when we saw the news. _No one_ expected it, especially not from _you.”_

Yuuri chuckles. “Yeah, I know. It was honestly nice that everyone laughed at you, though. If everyone thought me being a prince was a joke, no one would think it could be true.”

Dustin nods in agreement before sipping his coffee. “You know, we were heading over towards Faneuil Hall to eat at Durgin Park, wanna come with?”

“Nah, we can't, sorry,” Yuuri replies. “I'd have to clear it with my bodyguards, and I wanted to show Vitya the city.”

“I hope you two enjoy it,” Rosemary says, smiling. “You know, you look so much happier now. You were such a quiet, sad child.”

Shocked, Yuuri gapes for a moment before he smiles. “Less stress I imagine,” he says. “It was hard being in hiding.”

“I can see that now. Should we let you two get back to your date?”

Blushing, Yuuri turns to look up at Viktor and returns the smile Viktor wears. “Sure,” he says, looking back at her. As she turns to walk away, Yuuri catches her arm.

“Mrs. Holloway, before you go… Do you have something I can write on?”

“Of course,” she responds, pulling a small notebook out of her purse before handing it and a pen to Yuuri.

He writes something down, quickly, before handing it back. “This is my direct work email,” he says. “If you need something, let me know, like if you guys cover Sachima in class or something.”

One of his bodyguards steps closer. “Your Majesty, are you sure this is wise?”

“Mrs. Holloway was an exceptional teacher during my time in her class,” he says, switching smoothly back into royal mode. “I trust she won't use this information for malicious purposes or pass it on without my consent, and I would be more than happy to take a few minutes of my day on occasion to assist her with her curriculum.” Dustin exchanges a look with his aunt, neither of them quite expecting this from Yuuri after he’d been so casual with them.

“Of course, Sire,” they respond.

Yuuri nods. “If the security team takes issue with this, they are more than welcome to contact me directly and discuss the matter.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Satisfied, Yuuri looks back at his teacher, letting his posture relax some. “Sorry about that. They may ask for a background check before allowing this.”

Rosemary smiles. “I'd be more than happy to oblige. Thank you, this means a great deal.”

“Any time,” Yuuri says. “Dusty, if you need something of the like too, hit me up, yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure. I was thinking of teaching, myself, so… Yeah. Man, it'll be hilarious, what with teaching about you and having gone to class with you and shit. I could tell the story about the tractor.”

Yuuri blanches, stepping forward and whispering ferociously. _“No,_ Dusty, _no!_ I swear to fucking _god_ if that story gets out I'm going to kick your _ass.”_ Viktor stifles a snort. While he’s normally good at maintaining his composure, old habits die hard and Yuuri’d only ever known these people when he was acting like a commoner.

Laughing uproariously, Dustin throws his arm around Yuuri.

“Come _on,_ it was hilarious.”

“I have an _image_ to maintain,” Yuuri says, before noticing his bodyguard moving closer. He holds a hand up. “He's fine.” They stop immediately and Yuuri shrugs out from under Dustin's arm.

“Sorry about that, dude,” Dustin says.

“Nah, it's cool,” Yuuri responds. “They're just doing their jobs. Anyway, it’s a solid ‘no’ on the tractor story, but you can tell the museum story all you want. And the one about me falling out of the window during PE when I was trying to get one of the plums off the tree outside.”

“Fine, fine,” Dustin says, smiling. He holds up one hand in a fist and Yuuri bumps it with his own.

“Take care,” Yuuri says, “and if you guys ever end up in Hasetsu, let me know.”

“For sure!”

Looking back at his teacher Yuuri smiles, and when she opens her arms he gives her a quick hug. “You really were a great teacher,” he says. “Thank you.”

She nods, smiling. “Take care,” she says. “I wish you much happiness.”

“Sire,” Yuuri's bodyguard says, “we would advise moving away from here; you're likely to draw attention soon.” Nodding, Yuuri gives one last smile and wave before turning and taking Viktor’s hand.

“That was nice,” Viktor says as they continue down one of the paths.

“It was,” Yuuri says.

“What happened with the tractor?”

Making a pained sound, Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder, holding his hat on with one hand. “No…”

_“Velichestvo.”_

Huffing, Yuuri pouts at him. “Remember that tractor I fell asleep on?”

Viktor nods.

“Well. It was at a friend’s farm, we were messing around in the field and the tractor I was driving and subsequently fell asleep on… was moving. I had a fudgsicle in my hand. Which… melted all over my face and my new white shirt, which i’d put on my lap so i didn’t get it dirty by leaning against the back of the tractor seat, and it even seeped into my jeans as the tractor went in circles in the field. Until Dusty and some other classmates managed to yell at me enough to wake me up so I could stop it. I got badly sunburnt and couldn’t lay down on my back for like a week.”

“Wow.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“It’s _funny,”_ Viktor says, putting his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Kissing Yuuri’s head, he smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“Hana-nee almost _murdered_ me, and the Palace made a rule about not doing shit like that again.”

They walk in silence for a little while, arm in arm as they wander through historic Boston. Yuuri points out places of interest, shops he remembers visiting, an ice cream parlor Hana had taken him to on a whim one time. The stories he tells aren’t particularly long, but the way he moves through them and related stories of his later years is fluid and almost musical. Never before has he gone into his past as in-depth as he’s doing now, and Viktor’s grateful for every anecdote. Early evening brings with it larger crowds of people, commuters making their way home from work for the day. Once they finish at a museum their bodyguards advise against staying out much more, and they stop at a café for coffee while they wait for a car to come pick them up.

“I wish we’d been able to go to the Aquarium,” Yuuri says as he sips his mocha. “I used to love going there with Hana-nee, she’d take me to see the fish and the penguins and everything. I liked petting the sharks.”

“Security issues?”

Yuuri nods. “It’s… I mean I know it’s been weeks since they started actually planning the trip but that’s still relatively short notice considering all of the stuff with security and everything. I’m lucky the city was able to deal with the police presence and the motorcade and such.”

“How did you manage the Presidential Suite?”

“It… happened to be free, honestly, and I had them book it very early just in case I could come.”

“The hotel didn’t give you any issues?”

Looking at him, Yuuri raises one eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not like I demanded anything, I’d have been fine in a smaller suite, but you really think a hotel is going to pass up having me stay there? It’s a bragging point for them. Once we leave, they can point at the suite and say the King of Akitsushima stayed there in order to drive sales.”

Nodding, Viktor drinks his latte and looks out the window. People are hurrying by, some on their phones, others listening to music or chatting with a friend they’re with. He tries to imagine Yuuri here as a child but he can’t. They’re picked up by an unassuming black SUV and driven back to the hotel for dinner. This time, they eat with the rest of Viktor’s rinkmates in a private room in the hotel’s restaurant.

With the waitstaff popping in and out on a regular basis, there’s no room for Yuuri to be casual here. Both he and Viktor are expected, almost _required_ to keep a certain sort of demeanor about them and it’s as much about emphasizing their status as it is about keeping the Royal Family’s reputation intact. Though Yuuri tends to feel like he can be more relaxed in private, even with some staff around, that’s normally limited to staff that sees them on a regular basis. Here, on a visit to a foreign country, it’s expected that anyone who comes into contact with Yuuri will talk about their experience, and it’s important to keep everyone’s impressions in line with the image the Palace wants to maintain. Yuuri doesn’t like it as much as private dinners, Viktor knows, but he’s at least grateful that Royal Protocol isn’t followed and he can eat without worrying about finishing first.

 

By the time they’ve made it back up to their room, Viktor’s exhausted. Robotically, he plods through the entirety of the suite, cursing its size the entire time. Gone are the days where he could flop down on a bed three meters from the door. Now it’s through a private elevator, a foyer, a small hallway, and only then does he reach the large master suite. While staying in such a nice hotel suite is nothing to complain about, especially as he’s not paying for it himself, he’s tired and grumpy enough that an inconvenience is an inconvenience.

He falls asleep while Yuuri rinses the gel out of his hair, and only vaguely remembers the sensation of Yuuri crawling into bed behind him and the brush of a kiss on his shoulder blade.

 

~*~

 

Somewhere around four in the morning he wakes up with a start. When he looks over, Yuuri’s sitting up in bed, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly as he takes deep breaths. Leaning up on one arm, Viktor looks at him. “Nightmare, Lyubov?” he asks.

Yuuri nods.

“About having to run?”

Yuuri nods again. Being back in Boston hasn’t been entirely easy on him, though he’s enjoyed it for the most part, but after their excursion today Viktor’s not surprised the worst of his memories have been brought to the forefront of his mind. Reaching out with his other arm, Viktor pulls his fiancé towards him, holding him close. “We’re safe, Lyubov. We’re okay. We’re on a trip together and we’ll be going back to St. Petersburg after this. And then I’m going to take care of what I need to in St. Petersburg and meet you in Hasetsu.”

Still breathing deeply, Yuuri nods into his chest, wrapping his arm around Viktor as he grounds himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers after a while. “I know you nee—”

“We’ll be having none of that,” Viktor says, vaguely grumpy even though he’s not actually upset. “You’re here to support me, I’m here to support you. Give and take, Lyubov, it’s not a one-way street and it never will be.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmurs as he snuggles closer. “Love you.”

Too tired for a proper response outside of a mumble, Viktor kisses Yuuri’s hair, holding him tightly as they go back to sleep.

 

~*~

 

Phichit’s in the dining room with Yuuri when Viktor gets out of the shower the next morning. Yuuri’s in jeans and a t-shirt for the meal so he doesn’t risk staining his suit, and Viktor and Phichit both wear track suits with their National Team jackets.

“Celestino’s not here?” Viktor asks.

“Nah,” Phichit says, “he’s gone out with a few other coaches for breakfast, he’ll meet me at the arena.”

Viktor nods, gratefully accepting coffee from the waitstaff as their breakfasts are set in front of them. Leaning over, Yuuri presses a kiss to Viktor’s cheek and smiles at him. The atmosphere as they eat is almost comfortably domestic, reminiscent of their days in Detroit despite the significantly more upscale surroundings. Out the floor-length windows, the city moves below them, skyscrapers glinting in the early morning sun with the water shimmering below. It really is beautiful. The hustle and bustle reminds Viktor vaguely of St. Petersburg, though the weather is considerably better. Despite the competition later, the morning feels languid almost. Viktor doesn't have to be at the arena until almost noon, and can take his time gathering his things and looking over his skates to make sure they’re still in working order.

Giving Phichit a tour of the suite, Yuuri shows him everything but the second bedroom where their bodyguards are making their own preparations, though Hana does come out to say hello and give Phichit a hug. Aforementioned tour concludes on the patio and balcony, which is where Viktor is sitting with them when Yakov enters. True to form, it’s Yuuri’s personal assistant that lets them know that “Coach Feltsman has arrived,” bowing briefly before opening the door and letting Yakov out. He pulls Viktor aside for his pre-skate talk, reminding him that his health is more important than winning the competition.

As he’s been strict with himself about not overtraining again, Viktor reassures his coach that things are better here by far and Yakov nods, leaving to corral everyone else for the drive to the venue.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri stays with Viktor again while he prepares for the free skate. Sitting in the competitor’s area on a chair arena staff brought for him, he fiddles around with his phone while Viktor warms up. When the press arrives to do their usual pre-skate filming, however, Yuuri stands near his bodyguards. Some part of Viktor resents the fact that even here they can’t always be casual, but then Yuuri considers even being in front of Viktor’s competitors being in the public eye. Chris approaches him at some point, smiling as he makes small talk. For a bit, Phichit joins them and snaps a few photos before Celestino drags him away. Looking around, Viktor takes in the stares of his other competitors. Aside from Chris and Phichit, none of them have approached Yuuri independently, and Viktor’s not close enough with any of them to bother introducing his fiancé. They’ll probably all meet him at the gala, anyway, and Viktor knows Yuuri’d rather the niceties of extensive social interaction be done in one burst.

After the on-ice warm-up, however, Yuuri’s nowhere to be found. Wandering the halls with Yulian, Viktor peeks down every side-route, into every bathroom he passes but no luck. Moving further away from the warm-up area, he hears a small commotion, the clicking of camera shutters and a soft, low voice and there’s a sinking feeling in his gut. Turning a corner, he sees Yuuri, flanked by bodyguards, talking to the press.

“I’d prefer not to comment on Sachima’s foreign policy,” he’s saying as Viktor approaches. “Your organization is more than welcome to submit an interview request through the Royal Palace, however I’m here to support my fiancé and would like to keep the focus on him and his performances.”

“Your Majesty, what was it that brought you to Mr. Nikiforov? Was it the allure of dating the Living Legend?”

Glancing in Viktor’s direction, Yuuri sighs before turning back to the cameras. “Viktor and I met when he came to the café at which I was working at the time. We—”

“We’re more than aware of how you met, sir, but what was it that brought you together?”

“In a word, Phichit,” Yuuri says. “He saw many similarities in our personalities, and thought that we would do well as friends so he suggested Viktor go to the café for coffee one afternoon. Over the natural course of our friendship, I grew to lo—”

“But why were you so adamant about being with Mr. Nikiforov specifically?”

“If you’d let me finish,” he bites, “you would get your answer.” The reporter nods. “I wasn’t adamant about pursuing a romantic relationship with Viktor to begin with. I wasn’t pursuing the Living Legend in the slightest. If it had been only about the fame and prestige of my partner, I would have pursued a relationship with someone that was more acceptable to the people of my country. There are plenty of people in this world with a great deal of prestige and if it was about only that there is no shortage of partners I could have chosen from.”

“Then why would you have Phichit introduce the two of you? You must have known of the love the public holds for Mr. Nikiforov.”

“I believe I can shed some light on that,” Viktor replies. It’s clear Yuuri’s trying to respect Viktor’s privacy by not telling them the reasoning behind Phichit introducing them in the first place, but if Viktor’s the one talking about it, there’s no reason for Yuuri to feel guilty. The press turn to face him as he moves to stand next to Yuuri, putting his hand on his fiancé’s lower back in support. “In my time skating in Detroit, I wasn’t really able to make connections with the skaters under Celestino’s charge. There’s a distance that comes with being in my position, and Phichit had thought that, while my fiancé wasn’t able to tell me who he was, his position would allow him to understand how I felt and treat me normally. Phichit’s intention was to foster a mutually beneficial friendship. It was a refreshing change, and one I was grateful for.”

Looking around, he sees reporters eagerly taking notes, and Yuuri steps forward next to him, able to take it from here. “As we grew closer,” Yuuri says, “we ended up falling deeply in love. I had no need of his fame or money, or his prestige. In all honesty his fame, at the time, was a hindrance. Trying to keep a low profile and stay out of the public eye is much harder when your boyfriend is as famous as Viktor is. My desire to be with Viktor was only ever out of love for him as a person and an appreciation for the mutual support and respect present throughout our time knowing each other. His status as a Living Legend was, and still is, secondary. Our introduction was merely due to Phichit’s hopes that we would become friends and be able to support each other in a way that most people were unable to. It was effective, we became good friends, and then the relationship grew into a romantic one.”

“Were you worried, Your Majesty, that Viktor was pursuing _you_ due to your position?”

“Not for a moment,” Yuuri replies. “We’d been together romantically for a few months by the time Viktor found out who I really was. He loved me when he thought I was just a normal American college student with a part-time job at a café. There was no question in my mind that he loved me as a person, considering he had for months before he found out I was royalty.”

“Can you expand on the months you spent together before your return to public life, Your Majesty?”

Yuuri’s face darkens, just slightly, but he covers it with a smile. “If we’d wanted our early relationship to be public knowledge, we would have made it so long ago. As much of our life is highly publicized, I’m sure you all can understand our desire to keep what few private moments we’ve had just that: private. We’ve already expanded on the circumstances that brought us together, and for now, that’s enough.”

His tone leaves little room for argument, and the press can tell they’ve already gone too far. Turning towards Viktor, a reporter asks, “Mr. Nikiforov, on-ice practice seemed to go quite well, how do you feel about your free skate today?”

“Good,” Viktor says, still annoyed by their badgering. “I feel I’ll be able to skate to my fullest potential. Speaking of—” he turns to Yuuri, “it’s about time for me to head back. I understand you wanted to accompany me?”

Grateful, Yuuri nods before turning back to the press. “Unfortunately, I’m unable to answer further questions. Thank you.”

Turning to walk away, he doesn’t give anyone time for protest as he follows Viktor back to a more secluded area. He’s upset, Viktor can tell, and when they reach a hallway where there’s no one else save their bodyguards Viktor hugs him. Resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder, Yuuri leans into him, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers.

“It’s not you, it’s the press. I shouldn’t have wandered off.” The circlet he wears digs into Viktor’s shoulder but it’s not painful enough for Viktor to want to change position. Pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s hair, Viktor rubs his back for a second. He can hear the announcer, muffled through the walls, announcing the start of this part of the competition. The skaters Viktor is grouped with are those who’d scored highest in the short program and have the best chances at making the podium. In the corner, Yuri’s on his phone ignoring Yakov and as much as Viktor wants to step in to tell him to stay warmed up, he doesn’t. Yuri’s been doing this for long enough that if he’s taking the time to distract himself from the struggles he’s been having, Viktor’s not going to interrupt him. It likely wouldn’t go too well, anyway.

JJ’s off in another corner talking to Chris, bragging by the looks of it and Viktor raises an eyebrow. Though he’s talented, JJ tends to get absorbed in himself, and while talking himself up seems to help, Viktor’s noticed throughout the season that it can backfire, causing a simple mistake to shake him more than it ought to and leading him to make more. Instead of being on his phone like Viktor expects, Phichit’s listening to something, likely his free skate music, as he runs choreography. He’s doing well in this competition. The extensive practicing Yuuri says he’s been doing shows, and Phichit’s humble confidence is serving him well. Viktor won’t be surprised if Phichit medals, here. Part of him hopes he does.

A look from Yakov tells him to stay moving, and Viktor nods, putting his headphones in and letting himself drift on the notes while he runs through the routine in his head. He steps through his choreography, moves his arms like he will while he skates. Imagining himself on the ice, he runs through the timings, how long he has after each element before the next, how he’ll time his jumps to fit the music and as it comes to an end and he does his ending pose, his eyes fly open.

There’s a minor change he can make. He knows where Yuuri will be throughout the program, knows where he’ll be standing at the end, and Viktor smiles to himself. With the aggressive jump repertoire, the work he’s done to be able to withstand pushing most of them towards the later half… If he can pull this off, it’ll be the performance of a lifetime. Meeting Yuuri’s eyes, he sees him raise one eyebrow as he smiles, blushing.

“What is it, Vitya?”

Shaking his head, Viktor walks over and pecks him on the lips. “Nothing, Lyubov,” he says. Looking around, a few people are missing, likely having performed. Yuri’s still in the corner, though he’s stretching now. Phichit waves at Yuuri, pointing at the door to tell him he’s about to go on, and Yuuri kisses Viktor before following his friend out.

 

It’s almost fifteen minutes later when Yuuri returns, approaching as Viktor’s doing the splits against a wall.

“How’d Phichit do?” Viktor asks.

“Amazing,” Yuuri answers with a smile. “He’s done really, _really_ well.”

“And Yura?”

Yuuri grimaces. “He… fell. During one of his most important jumps. Got nervous and botched the step sequence right after, but after that he managed to skate well. He’s just a few points behind Phichit, it depends on how Chris and you skate whether or not he’ll make the podium.”

Pursing his lips, Viktor nods. Yuri’s been at the top of his field for a while, but the transition from Juniors to Seniors was hard enough on him, and with his center of balance thrown off Viktor’s not surprised he’s doing badly. Chris leaves the room, and Viktor sighs. “I’m going to find the bathroom, Velichestvo,” he says.

“Okay. I’ll stick with Yakov.”

Nodding, Viktor heads out with Yulian following. Approaching the nearest bathroom, he’s surprised to hear sniffling and what sounds like frustrated tears. He enters, turning a corner, and sees Yuri rubbing at his face in front of the mirror. His expression softens.

“Yura…”

“The _fuck_ do you want, asshole?” Crossing his arms, he looks away which means he doesn’t see as Viktor approaches and pulls him into a hug. Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight having Viktor’s arms around him, though he still does his best not to cry. After a long moment, Viktor feels his cousin’s arms around his waist and he squeezes him more.

“This is bullshit,” Yuri mutters as he pulls away. He’s a couple of centimeters taller than he had been the last time Viktor hugged him, Viktor notes, surprised.

“It’s part of skating,” Viktor says. “You did well, and—”

“I fucked up,” Yuri says. “My fucking— my _body—_ it’s…”

“Changing. Your body’s changing and you can’t control that,” Viktor says, “but you can do your best to work with it and that’s what you did.”

 _“You_ never fucked up like this,” Yuri mutters.

“I was lucky enough to deal with most of my growth around when I messed up my knee. In fact, the doctors think the growth had something to do with me getting injured in the first place,” Viktor says. “I wasn’t on the ice or skating well to start with because of the injury, and when I was retraining after healing, I was also adapting to the changes.”

“You won at Worlds that year.”

Viktor shrugs. “And I crashed and burned at the Grand Prix series. It happens.”

For while, Yuri is silent, before he looks down. “I can’t afford to lose,” he says softly.

“It’s a medal,” Viktor says. “You’ll have plenty of—”

“I can’t _afford_ to lose,” he repeats, barely audible.

Oh. With the changes he’s going through, he’s looking at a struggle for a little while and there’s no telling how the next season is going to go. Putting his hands on his little cousin’s shoulders, Viktor looks him in the eye. “Listen to me,” he says, surprised when Yuri nods. “Don’t worry about the money. I can help you out if you need.”

“The fuck do you care?”

“You’re my _family._ Even if you weren’t, I’m not going to just leave you in a lurch. I’ll pay any expenses you need, out of pocket, no questions asked.”

“I don’t need your _pity!”_ Yura shouts, pulling away. Turning, he kicks one of the stall doors, clenching his fists at his sides.

“And if it’s _not_ pity? Being the sole supporter of your family is a _lot_ of pressure mentally, and if losing is going to affect your family that badly… you could develop some serious issues and perfectionism isn’t easy to fight. Especially not if anything less than perfect means no food on the table.” Running his fingers through his hair, Viktor sighs. “Yura, I’m not trying to make fun of you, I’m not _pitying_ you, and it’s… I’m trying to _look out_ for you. I _have_ money. I’m _marrying into_ money. I have the cash to spare, and this will let you train properly without being terrified of _failure._ Without your family's safety and comfort being dependent on your skating.”

Yuri’s expression is complicated when he turns back, pride warring with the knowledge that Viktor is right.

“If you have to,” Viktor says, “think of it as a loan! No interest. You can pay me back with a few gold medals and more of those katsudon pirozhki you make so well! No one has to know, not even Lilia or Yakov or Yuuri. This will stay between us.”

By now, Yuri knows Viktor’s not going to break a promise like that. True to form, Viktor’s effectively kept the fact that they’re related secret. He hasn’t even told Yuuri what Yuri’d thought about him, and Yuri knows it. Looking down, Yuri’s hair hides his face as he crosses his arms.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll let you know.”

“Please do,” Viktor responds. “However you want to, even if it’s through your grandpa.”

With a huff, Yuri nods, heading for the door. He hesitates before exiting, and when Viktor waves he flashes the barest hint of a grateful not-quite-smile before returning to his normal scowl. Glancing out the door, he seems to see something on the TV in the hall before looking back.

“Better hurry the fuck up,” he says, “Giacometti’s almost done.”

As Viktor rushes into a stall with wide eyes, he hears a snort just before the door closes.

 

Chris is exiting the ice when Viktor stumbles into the arena. Turning towards him, Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

“Everything alright?”

Viktor nods, refastening his wrist brace. “Yeah, it’s fine, I was just in the bathroom.”

“Probably primping,” Yuri mutters from nearby.

“What can I say? I have to look good,” Viktor replies with a wink in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri blushes. A glance at his cousin says Yuri’s flushed as well, probably glad Viktor took the teasing in stride.

Viktor pulls off his jacket, handing it to Yakov before taking a tissue from his Makkachin tissue box and blowing his nose. By the time he’s thrown it away and straightened out his hair, the ice is clear and he’s allowed on. Stepping into the rink results in a flurry of camera flashes, but he turns back to the boards and smiles at his fiancé. Moving forward, Yuuri clasps his hand. With a soft smile Viktor leans over and kisses Yuuri’s ring, a reversal of the short program before he meets his fiancé’s eyes.

“Watch me, Lyubov,” he whispers, foregoing the more formal nickname. “Keep your eyes only on me.”

Nodding, Yuuri smiles. “I will, Vityusha. I promise.”

 _“Watch me,”_ Viktor emphasizes, before letting go of Yuuri’s hand and pushing away from the boards.

Greeting the crowd gets him more excited than he already is. He waves, he does tricks, he twizzles his way across the ice as he works the crowd into a fervor, before skating to the center. Meeting Yuuri’s eyes, he kisses his ring, watches as his fiancé does the same. It’s almost strangely intimate, even over the distance, and with a satisfied smile, Viktor takes his opening position.

Light, airy, he moves with soft, lilting piano notes. Love fills his heart, drapes him in a warm confidence as he lets himself get absorbed in his program. This is his swan song, this is the program he won’t let people forget, won’t let _Yuuri_ forget, watching as he is from the boards. Swirling across the ice, he moves his arms, tries to let the love he feels spread all the way to the tips of his outstretched fingers as he gains speed for the first combination jump.

It’s perfect. Solid, he lands on the ice and moves straight into a flying sit spin before continuing with his choreography. The music builds, and he lets his movements reflect that, widening his arms and opening his posture while he sets himself up for a quad salchow. Another spin, a perfectly-executed quad loop, and then back to choreography as the music reaches a peak. In the sudden quiet he flies across the ice with slow, deliberate movements. Spreading his arms leads to a twinge in his ribs but it’s not bad enough to affect his skating. Pulling his arms in, he raises them to above his head before dropping into a lunge. Keeping his posture near-impeccable he goes into a spread eagle with deep edges. A crossover, an Ina Bauer and he can feel the music coursing through him, his love in every movement.

With grace, he picks up more speed for a triple-axel. He lands harder than he expected, going deeper into the knee bend but it’s nothing that will hurt his score. As the music picks up pace again, he moves faster, lights of the arena glinting off of the gold of his ring, the sequins sewed onto his costume and he jumps a triple flip, landing with a solid crack. Heart swelling with emotion he smiles, opening his arms and once again pulling them close, as if pulling Yuuri towards him before jumping a quad toe loop, unexpected to anyone but himself. To score high, he needs to pull out all the stops and an ache starts deep in his chest. He’s okay, though, he can finish this without issue. More flowing choreography, a three-jump combination executed to wonderfully and he knows this program is going better than he’d hoped.

His last jump combination, a triple Lutz followed by a triple toe loop goes well and he lands it with arms outstretched, moving into a fast-paced step sequence. With each change of direction his confidence grows, his love floods every fiber of his being and he moves his feet, his hips, his arms in unified expression of the emotion he’s trying to convey. Uplifting as the music is, he feels light on his blades as he picks up speed for his signature quad flip and takes off, soaring. There’s a solid crack as his blade meets the ice and the crowd roars with approval, adrenaline building as Viktor goes into his final combination spin. Suddenly dropping off, the music becomes something soft, an outpouring of gentle affection as he slows to a stop.

Bringing his arms in front of him, he prepares for the final pose everyone expects, but where he’d normally open his arms to the judges, instead he lets his right hand come to rest over his heart, extending his left to point at the love of his life, standing at the boards with both hands over his mouth as he meets Viktor’s eyes. Although he’s breathing hard, the throbbing of his chest barely registers as the audience cheers for a flawless final performance by the Living Legend. He’s done it, he skated an exquisite program and pride wells up within, bringing tears to his eyes as he lifts his arms in euphoric triumph.

After thanking the audience with bows, beaming while he waves at them amidst a shower of roses and poodles, he skates towards the exit where Yuuri waits, bouncing excitedly on his tiptoes. After stepping onto the carpet, before he’s even had a chance to put his hard guards on, Yuuri throws his arms around him and presses their lips together in a rather un-kingly display of emotion. He doesn’t say anything, but the tears in his eyes and the way his whole face shines says he’d understood perfectly. Brushing his fingers along his fiancé’s cheek, Viktor smiles.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri says, turning to take a bouquet of flowers from Hana. She’s smiling too, and Viktor suspects when they get to somewhere less populated she’ll have words of congratulation as well but for now, she hands over the ornate bouquet and watches as Yuuri presents it. Taking it, Viktor smells the sweetness of the flowers and he grins, almost overcome with emotion.

At the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri sits next to him, holding his hand as he had before. Though he’s silent, Viktor knows it’s because he’s almost overcome with emotion, the way Yuuri’s eyes shimmer and the smile on his face says it can’t be any other reason.

“Beautiful,” Lilia says, standing to the side. Viktor looks up, meeting her eyes and she gives him a proud smile. “You’ve done well. Congratulations.”

Nodding, Viktor turns back to the rink. The jumbotron displays highlights of his performance interspersed with video of Viktor at the Kiss and Cry, sandwiched between Yuuri and Yakov with a lap full of flowers as he awaits his score. The time comes for the announcer to read it off, and as he says the number even Yakov lets out a noise of surprise.

Another record. His last skate in competition and Viktor not only set another World Record for the men’s free skate, but combined with his (also record-winning) short program, he set a new total score record as well. The crowd is almost deafening, cheers echoing through the stadium as Viktor waves to the cameras, blows a kiss at his fans on the television, revels in this incredible culmination of his career.

 

Once the medaling ceremony is over, he has a quiet moment with Yuuri, hidden away from both the press and the public. Yuuri pulls him forward by the gold medal around his neck, presses his lips to Viktor’s in congratulation and Viktor wraps his arms around his fiancé, holding him close. Soft, Yuuri’s lips taste of cherries, cool from being out by the ice.

A gentle cough interrupts their celebration and Yuuri pulls back, startled, looking over to where Hana’s standing with a smile. Now that she has their attention, she walks in. “Mr. Nikiforov, your coach wanted me to inform you that you have about five minutes to get ready for the press conference.”

“Of course,” Viktor says, brushing his bangs back into place.

She nods. “Also, I wanted to congratulate you. Incredible performances, both of them. Absolutely stunning.”

Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Viktor nods. “Thank you.” Glancing around, he sees that no one else is present so he walks over and hugs her tightly. Returning it, she squeezes him, quickly letting go when he hisses in pain.

“I’m sorry, do you… Should medical look over you, sir?”

“No, no,” he says, “it doesn’t hurt very badly, just the exertion getting to me. Nothing like Euros.”

Satisfied, she nods. “Good to hear. Your Majesty,” she says to Yuuri, “multiple members of the press have asked you to attend the press conference as well, which… probably means you shouldn’t. It’s a struggle enough keeping their attention focused only on Mr. Nikiforov without you there.”

Yuuri hums in agreement, looking up at Viktor with a smile. “I’ll hang out with Madame Lilia while you do your thing. If they even try to imply that I’m ditching you or something, punch them.”

“Don’t punch them,” Hana says. “You can clarify that His Majesty didn’t compete in the competition at all, which is, of course, why he’s not at the press conference for the medalists. They should be focusing on yourself, Mr. Giacometti, and Mr. Chulanont. Equally.”

Snorting, Viktor rolls his eyes. “We’ll see. Maybe if we promise them interviews with us before the exhibition?”

Pursing his lips, Yuuri crosses his arms. “I… I don’t want the focus taken off you, though. This is _your_ achievement, they should be talking about _that,_ not our engagement or who’ll be wearing what at the wedding and such. If they can stay on track, I’m fine with it.”

“Combined with your comments earlier, Sire, it would be a solid display of your support for him.”

Yuuri looks at his older sister before smiling. “Very well,” he says. “Please have someone inform the press that I’ll be present with Viktor before the exhibition, but we won’t be answering unrelated questions.”

Hana nods. “I’ll do so when we get back out, for now Mr. Nikiforov ought to be getting to that conference.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Viktor says. Turning to Yuuri, he presses another kiss to his lips, smiling as he pulls away. “I’ll see you when I’m done, Velichestvo.”

“Of course, Vityusha,” Yuuri replies. “I’ll be waiting.”

All eyes are on Viktor as he files into the press room, taking his place at the center of the long table at one end. Out of habit, he glances at his name card. It’s spelled properly, as far as transliteration into English goes. Over the years there’ve been some incredible mistakes on the part of people who’d typed the cards up, but they’d lessened as Viktor had gained fame. He takes his seat, pouring a cup of water from the chilled bottle provided, and leans forward with a sigh to rest his elbows on the table.

 

“How was it?” Yuuri asks as they drive through Boston.

Viktor shrugs. “Better than normal. They wanted to know if I was coming back since I won.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“That my retirement had never been contingent on my placement here,” Viktor responds. The press had mostly been respectful, outside of a few questions as to where Yuuri was and what Viktor was planning on doing after retirement. It had been a good competition, Phichit and Chris had both skated very well and that hadn’t gone unnoticed. One reporter had asked if Phichit was planning on going to the wedding, to which Viktor had answered that while the guest list wasn’t yet finalized he doubted Phichit wouldn’t get an invitation. After that, they’d focused on Phichit and Chris’ future plans. Both of them intend to continue for at least another season or two, and Viktor had made it a point to wish them and the other competitors well. With security as thorough as it is, Viktor hadn’t needed to worry as he was shuttled out of the room and into the side room Yuuri’d watched the conference from. After that, they and the rest of Viktor’s rinkmates and coaches had all gone out to the car for the drive home.

 

~*~

 

Standing next to Viktor, Yuuri smiles for the reporters covering arrivals for the exhibition. His suit is just a bit darker than the one Viktor wears, the circlet on his head subdued but still glimmering in the light. As the cameras flash, they take turns shifting in different directions to allow everyone at least a decent angle. There are few questions posed to them, every one of them some question about Yuuri’s opinions about Viktor’s career to which he answers positively, reiterating his support. A few had asked about other topics, but Yuuri’d skillfully redirected to Viktor’s success with his answers. It wasn’t nearly as bad as even the initial questioning at World’s, especially since their bodyguards had been standing nearby, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

While they watch the start of the exhibition, they sit next to each other in the seating area designated for competitors, holding hands. It’s nice. Yuuri makes the occasional comment, asks about some stuff he doesn’t entirely understand, and Viktor sometimes points out technical difficulties and skills not obvious to the average layperson. When it comes time for Viktor to change and warm up, both of them head discreetly to the locker room.

Smiling, Phichit greets them as they walk in. “I hadn’t realized they’d let _you_ in here,” he says to Yuuri as he undoes his costume.

Yuuri laughs. “Phichit, between Viktor’s position in skating and me being who I am I honestly would be surprised if they didn’t.” Turning to Yulian, he takes the garment bag.

“Did you bring your skates?” Phichit asks, surprised.

Grinning, Yuuri turns to him. “I did.”

“For what?”

Opening the bag, Yuuri hands Viktor his old Stammi Vicino costume with a black button-up instead of the white and pulls out a second costume, identical except for the color. “For this,” he answers, holding up the shimmering blue shirt.

Eyes wide, Phichit looks between them before pulling out his phone.

“You _can’t,_ Phichit,” Yuuri says. “No posting until after the performance, it has to be a surprise.”

“I can’t _believe_ you,” Phichit says. “You wouldn’t let me post video of you skating and now you won’t let me break the news?”

“It’s a _surprise,_ no one knows we’re doing this except for like, the two people Viktor checked with to make sure it was allowed. You can take a picture of us together before we go on and post it during the performance, will that help?”

Smiling, Phichit nods. “I can live with that.”

Quickly, Yuuri gets changed, fastening the overshirt before he pulls on the partial gloves. “This is supposed to look like the kind of outfit a prince would wear?” he asks Viktor.

Viktor nods. “Supposed to, yes.”

“Looks like a fairytale thing, or something out of a Disney movie,” he mutters. “I’ve literally never worn something like this. If I’d asked to, the Palace would have laughed.”

“Oh, hush, Yuuri,” Viktor replies, grateful it’s only them in the locker room. “It’s _supposed to_ be like a fairytale. Realism is overrated.”

“True,” Yuuri responds as he presses a kiss to Viktor’s lips, and straightens the cords looped over Viktor’s shoulder.

In turn, Viktor makes adjustments to Yuuri’s outfit, straightening one of the cords in the front that had gotten twisted when Yuuri’d fastened it. Both of them put their skates on, tying them with deft fingers before standing. Glancing at the door, Yuuri reaches into his bag, pulling out a familiar leather box.

“I thought we should wear these, too,” he says softly, opening the case to reveal their necklaces. Viktor smiles. The rings on their fingers have served them well, had been a welcome, tangible reminder of their love but the necklaces… There’s a significance to them that Viktor can’t put into words. With the metalwork being as delicate as it is, he’d left his in Hasetsu to keep it safe, but wearing them during the routine would be perfect. He pulls Yuuri’s out, hooking it around his fiancé’s neck with a smile.

“Did you get the chains adjusted?” he asks, noticing it lays further up Yuuri’s chest than it used to.

“I did,” he says, pulling Viktor’s necklace out. Bright red, he fastens it around Viktor’s neck, brushing his fingers across the pendant as he smiles. “They were that long before so we could hide them but… there’s no need anymore.”

Touching the pendant, Viktor feels warmth burning in his chest. He’d missed wearing it, though he hadn’t realized how much.

“You guys are adorable,” Phichit says, “but you should probably be getting back.”

Yuuri nods, gesturing at Phichit’s phone as he moves to stand next to Viktor. Phichit takes his photo and Yuuri puts his scarf and circlet back on, followed by the coat he’d been wearing and a pair of gloves to hide the outfit. There’s nothing they can do about the skates, but hopefully they still won’t be seen in the dim lighting near the boards.

 

As expected, when they make it to the arena most people are enraptured by the performers on the ice. Presumably, Chris has already gone and he’s back up in the seats when Viktor looks to check. Lilia approaches, smiling. “I made sure they have the duet you brought,” she says in English. “They know not to play your normal exhibition piece, and I made sure the announcer knows about the change in music.”

“Good,” Viktor replies. “Thank you.”

She glances between them, smiling. “Your Majesty, how are you feeling?”

“Good,” Yuuri replies. “I hope everyone enjoys watching us.”

“You’ll have an audience this time.”

Smiling, Yuuri nods. “I’m no stranger to having an audience,” he says, “what with speeches and such. This is just like dancing. Except we’re on figure skates and under spotlights and doing jumps and in front of everyone and…” He almost looks like he’s getting panicked, and Viktor steps in front of him, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Viktor says. “Just like in practice.”

“What if I fall?”

 _“I've_ fallen in competition. Even high-scoring skates. It happens, no one's going to judge.”

“Are you still feeling alright for the lifts?” Yuuri asks, trying to distract himself.

Viktor nods. “Yup! I took some painkillers a while ago. I’ll use our signal if I can’t do them.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “Good. And at the end?”

“Unless I’ve given indication before, feel free,” Viktor replies, kissing his forehead. Hana approaches with the duffel bag she’s carrying. Inside, Viktor knows, is the case for Yuuri’s circlet. They can’t risk it getting scratched or broken, and though Yuuri trusts Hana not to drop it, they know it’ll be easier to protect nestled in its case.

The last group of skaters make their way off the ice, smiling as they pass Viktor and returning the wave he gives them.

As Viktor takes the ice, hand brushing the pendant on his chest, the announcer says, “For our final performance of the night, please welcome gold medalist and six-time consecutive World Champion, Viktor Nikiforov, skating to a new arrangement of last year’s free skate: Stammi Vicino- Duet.”

Nothing is said about Yuuri joining him, which is as it should be. Instead of the soft notes he’d normally expect, Viktor’s relieved to hear a few piano notes before the vocals kick in. He’d had the song rewritten, had commissioned a new version for this very purpose, and as he starts the familiar routine, he holds in a smile. It’d started as a declaration of love, he knows, but now… now it seems more than that. He’d first seen Yuuri skating Stammi Vicino and ever since, he's treasured the memory. The first jump goes well, landed to applause as he continues undeterred, almost floating across the rink. He lands the second jump too, using his body to try to portray the love he feels and as his blades meet the ice after the third, he hears the crowd cheer.

The roar of the audience grows even louder as Yuuri skates across the ice towards him and, smiling, clasps his arm for a brief moment before moving into the routine. Just as a second voice joins the first, singing in unison, they move in tandem. The first lift goes well, Viktor raising Yuuri high into the air as they glide through the rink. It seems the audience is thrilled to see Yuuri, the chance for an in-person look at the Sachiman King’s skating prowess Viktor had almost bragged about is enough to get everyone riled up, but Viktor focuses on the routine.

Lowering Yuuri into a deep dip has them cheering more, and the dance they do is almost perfectly timed. Yuuri cups Viktor’s cheek, runs his fingers down Viktor’s jawline as they move together, never losing contact for more than a second or two. Though the voices aren’t in sync anymore, there’s an interplay between them, a back and forth before the vocal lines merge once more. Another lift, Viktor raises Yuuri into the air again as Yuuri holds the pose he’s supposed to. It’s an updated version of the routine they’d come up with in Detroit but it still holds some of the same elements as that first skate. When they separate, the choreography is almost perfectly in time, the sound of Yuuri’s skates on the ice match Viktor’s almost to the point where he can barely tell there are two people skating. Spinning closer, Viktor moves towards his fiancé, letting himself be lifted into the air as Yuuri smiles up at him.

It feels _right._ There’s something perfect about their dance that keeps Viktor from looking anything but absolutely thrilled with the situation and they turn with and around each other as they prepare for the next move. Grasping each other’s arms, they lean apart for just a moment, relying on each other for balance before Yuuri twirls into Viktor’s embrace. As they skate together Viktor lets himself feel the love, the adoration, the desire they both have to not be separated again and they do combination spins, well-rehearsed and perfectly in sync.

 _Stammi Vicino, non te andare._ Stay by my side, and never leave. Viktor doesn’t intend to, and neither does Yuuri.

Every time their eyes meet, Viktor can see only love in his fiancé’s and knows Yuuri can see the same in his own. It’s an almost startling display of intimacy, and as the dance continues, the love in Viktor’s heart only grows stronger. Yuuri lifts him again into the air before they continue with the choreography, skating with and to each other without pause. The audience continues to cheer; Viktor knows the cameras are filming their every move and Yuuri must as well, but neither of them care.

The music builds in a crescendo as they move towards the center of the rink. Viktor relishes every brush of their fingers, every bit of contact they have and when Yuuri grips his sides for the final lift, Viktor braces himself on his fiancé’s shoulders, jumps just enough to aid Yuuri in raising him a few feet off the ice before they spin and come to a stop. For a moment, they hold the pose and then, slowly, Yuuri lowers him back down onto the ice.

The roar of the audience seems to wake Yuuri up and he grins, holding Viktor’s hand as he lifts his other hand in a wave.

“All four directions, Vashe Velichestvo,” Viktor says, turning them. Yuuri seems to have forgotten they have even more people to wave to but he covers it up easily. Facing each direction, they greet the audience and though Yuuri doesn’t bow, he lifts his hand in a distinctly royal wave, gives a deep nod of his head and Viktor smiles even as he wonders what it would have been like with Yuuri as a competitor. Cameras flash as they make their way to the exit. Yuuri steps out first, taking his hard guards from Lilia and putting them on with a grin. Viktor follows suit, and when Yuuri meets his eyes he smiles.

“Incredible, Velichestvo,” Viktor murmurs. Blushing, Yuuri nods before leaning close and kissing him. Though quick, it’s heartfelt and full of the love he feels, a clear gesture of affection even in front of so many people. Turning towards a camera, Viktor smiles and waves, whispering for Yuuri to do the same. Following Viktor’s instruction he does, flashing a grin at the press before following Viktor out of the arena.

 

“Your Majesty,” one reporter says when they’ve stopped for interviews, “the skill with which you skated was fairly high, was competing ever something you considered?”

Smiling, Yuuri turns to them. “While I would have loved to, and while it did cross my mind, it wasn’t anything I genuinely considered as I was required to keep a low profile while in hiding.”

“Do you have plans to go into competition now?”

“No. My duties as King prevent me from having enough time to train, much less travel for competition. At this point, there are also ethical barriers, mainly concerns about scoring. It would be difficult to ensure a fair score and completely unbiased judges when people may fear political backlash should I not do as well as I’d hoped. While I wouldn’t consider such a reaction and would, of course, want scoring to be fair, it would beg the question of whether or not I’d earned any medals I may have won.”

“Over the course of your reign, you’ve seemed committed to fairness and honesty, would that have any bearing on your choice if your duties weren’t a factor?”

Yuuri looks at the woman who’d asked, standing with a tape recorder held out. “It’s unlikely. I can emphasize fairness all I want, but if a judge scored me unfairly based on my position, even after I’d asked for unbiased scoring, it’s still not right and not fair to competitors. If I’d been able to compete while in hiding, I still would have retired from competition the day I returned to my position.”

“Does Stammi Vicino hold any special significance to you?”

Nodding, Yuuri flashes a fond, yet subdued, smile at Viktor. “I… Yes. Yes, it does. I’d seen his performance of Stammi Vicino for an ice show the season before he’d skated it and had fallen in love with the routine. Something I’ve done to de-stress is learn routines, mostly Phichit’s since we lived together, and the first time Viktor saw me skating it was that program. He came out on the ice and we made a half-attempt at skating bits of it together, and ever since it’s had a place in my heart.”

Stepping forward, Viktor puts his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “By the time I skated Stammi Vicino in competition, we were falling for each other, and I wanted to portray that emotion in my performances. It’s very dear to both of us, and I’m glad my fiancé was able to skate it with me during the exhibition.”

“As far as final competitions, Mr. Nikiforov, would you say you’re pleased with this one?”

“Incredibly,” Viktor answers. “I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to my career.”

“Any commentary on Yuri Plisetsky’s failure?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor sees Yuri glance over from where he’s standing near Yakov. Giving no indication that he’s even aware his cousin’s in the room, Viktor makes eye contact with the reporter. “At fifteen, Yuri’s done incredibly well for his first season in Seniors. While he’s been struggling recently, that doesn’t negate his hard work and determination to improve. I wouldn’t call this a failure by any means. Yuri has much potential, and I’m confident he’ll be able to work through the issues he’s been having and take the figure skating world by storm. His effort is commendable, and I’m proud to call him my rink mate. Seeing his growth over the years has been a joy and I’m looking forward to what the future brings.”

“Would you consider going into coaching? Specifically, would you consider coaching Mr. Plisetsky, as he’s had a lot of success performing the routine you choreographed for him?”

“I can’t give a definite answer as to whether or not I would be able to coach full-time, however I wouldn’t be adverse to it. Yuri is doing well under Coach Feltsman and Madame Baranovskaya, but if he ever wanted my help or input I would be more than happy to accommodate him as much as I can.”

“Can we expect more from you as far as figure skating in general goes?”

Nodding, Viktor smiles. “I have no intention of dropping figure skating altogether. While I’m not sure what the future holds as far as performances, I intend to keep skating as long as I’m able.” He can’t imagine a life without the ice. It’s stress relief, it’s fun, it’s exercise, it’s a part of him, and it’s almost a second home at this point. Yuuri understands this, Viktor knows, which is why he’s asked his staff to figure out what would be acceptable to the Palace as far as Viktor continuing to skate.

Yakov comes over to fetch Viktor and they thank the press for their time, standing for a moment in their matching costumes for more pictures before following Yakov out. They have the gala to get ready for.

 

An hour after they’ve arrived at the hotel, everyone convenes in the Presidential suite, freshly showered and dressed to the nines. Yuuri and Viktor wear matching dark grey three-piece suits, with their ties echoing the color of their exhibition costumes. A silver circlet with a clear blue gem sits on Yuuri’s brow, inhibiting the forehead kiss Viktor goes to give him. He settles for Yuuri’s nose, causing pink to spread across his fiancé’s face and the tips of his ears as he smiles. “Ready, Velichestvo?”

Yuuri nods. “As I’ll ever be.”

Fortunately, the hotel they’re staying in is also hosting the Gala in a ballroom downstairs. They pile into the private elevator, getting out on the basement level where the hotel holds events. There are several ballrooms, each of differing sizes depending on the event, and they’re shown to the second-largest. Before entering, a member of the hotel staff runs over, stopping in front of them.

“Your Majesty, Mr. Nikiforov,” they say, out of breath, “I, umm. As the hotel isn’t used to accommodating royalty, we aren’t entirely sure how to announce you both properly.”

Looking at them, Yuuri smiles. “Have you announced everyone who’s entered the room?”

“No, Sir,” they answer.

“Then there is no need to announce us,” Yuuri says. “Most everyone will know who I am, and I’m sure those who don’t will learn soon enough.”

Grateful, they nod, bowing before they step away and gesture at the open door. Adjusting his waistcoat, Yuuri stands tall, taking on the demeanor expected of him at formal events. Wrapping his arm around his fiancé’s waist, Viktor presses a kiss to his cheek. “You can relax,” he says. “It’s a casual party, we’re just dressed up.”

Raising one eyebrow, Yuuri looks at him. “Casual? How casual is ‘casual?’”

“Chris pole danced at Sochi ‘casual.’” Viktor answers. Smiling, Yuuri nods at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. He relaxes only slightly, his bearing still royal, but there’s far less tension in his shoulders.

“Everyone else is in there now, should we follow?”

“Of course.”

The room almost comes to a halt when they enter, but Phichit makes a beeline towards them as soon as he notices. On his heels are Guang-Hong and Leo, both close friends of his as far as Viktor can tell. Hana, Yulian, and their other bodyguards line up against the wall, keeping a close eye on things without looking too obtrusive.

“You made it!” Phichit says.

“I did!” Smiling, Yuuri hugs his best friend. Press isn’t allowed in, but Yuuri’s still going to be cautious. There’s no telling what other people will take photos or video of, so playing it safe is the best option. Still, he relaxes a bit while Phichit introduces people to him. Viktor fetches a few glasses of champagne, walking over and holding one out. Yuuri takes it with a “thank you,” sipping it as he listens to some story Phichit is telling about Four Continents. Alone or in pairs, other skaters drift over, hovering around as if they don’t quite know what to do with themselves. Viktor understands; it’s not every day people meet royalty and not only is Yuuri royal, he’s also the secret boyfriend people had been talking about last season.

Mila drags Sara over and smiles at Yuuri. “Have you met Sara Crispino?” she asks.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Yuuri replies, smiling.

Sara dips into a technically perfect curtsy before taking Yuuri’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Your Majesty,” she says.

“And yourself.”

Blushing, she nods. “I saw your exhibition! It was absolutely _wonderful.”_

It’s Yuuri’s turn to blush and he smiles. “Thank you.”

Michele comes up next to her, but before Sara has time to introduce him he extends his hand and moves in front of her.

“I’m her brother, Michele,” he says as Yuuri goes to talk again, stepping close enough to Sara for her to take a step away. A bit close to Yuuri, too, if the way Hana’s eyes bore into him is any indication.

“Nice to meet you too.” Yuuri’s gracious to a fault almost, taking the interruption in stride.

Glaring at her brother, Sara mutters something in Italian before hooking her arm through Mila’s and giving a final nod to Yuuri as she walks away. Michele doesn’t stick around long, not with Emil hanging over his shoulder, and they step aside to allow others to approach. It seems the Gala has become more of a meet-and-greet, but Yuuri handles it well. He’s in the middle of congratulating Chris on his medal when a shout rings through the room and JJ announces his presence.

“Are you ready to mingle with _the king?!”_ He throws up his signature pose as Phichit takes an exaggerated look at Yuuri and the room goes awkwardly quiet.

“We already are,” Phichit says with a grin.

Walking over, JJ smiles before seeing Yuuri. His face falls, then red creeps up his neck as he realizes what’s going on. Ever gracious, Yuuri smiles and holds his hand out. “JJ Leroy, I presume?”

“Yes.” He takes Yuuri’s hand and shakes it. “You’re…”

 _“King_ Yuuri of Akitsushima. It’s a pleasure.” To those who don’t know him, Yuuri sounds as polite as can be but Viktor and Phichit are well aware of the sarcasm under the surface. “I saw your short program,” Yuuri continues, “though I wasn’t able to make out the lyrics as well as I’d hoped. What was it called again?”

“The Ballad of King JJ,” JJ replies with the barest hesitation. He looks grateful when Isabella walks up next to him. “Your Majesty, may I introduce my fiancé?”

Yuuri nods, smiling. She returns his smile and shakes his hand as he congratulates them on their engagement and complimenting JJ’s programs.

Once everyone’s gotten over the excitement, the room eases into a more casual atmosphere, groups of people talking and laughing as others dance to one side. Hana sidles up next to Yuuri.

“Sire, is it just me or was there a bit of… sarcasm back there?”

Blushing, Yuuri looks to the side as he sips his champagne. Hana sighs.

“Your Majesty, _please_ behave.”

“I _am,”_ Yuuri says.

“Of course, Sire.” Though she sounds properly respectful, by now Viktor can tell when Hana’s playing the older sister, even in public, and right now she’s very much scolding Yuuri and he knows it. Trading his empty glass out for a full one, Yuuri drains half of the champagne in one quick gulp as Phichit comes back over.

“Majesty, can we take a selfie?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, of course.” Moving next to his friend, Yuuri smiles at the camera. It’s more subdued than it would normally be, but still genuinely happy. Phichit asks for another one, where they both make faces and after a quick glance around Yuuri obliges on the condition it doesn’t get posted. Without hesitation, Phichit uploads it to the online Drive folder shared with Yuuri’s family and the look on Yuuri’s face is sheer betrayal.

“You said not to _post_ it,” Phichit says without looking at his friend.

“Yeah, but—”

“Oh, come on, you know your mom wants all the pictures she can get her hands on.”

Sighing, Yuuri drinks the rest of that glass of champagne. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. Whatever. Okay.”

Phichit nods. “Also, some people were wanting pictures with you but… apparently you’re intimidating.”

“Me? Intimidating?”

Humming in agreement, Viktor nods. “You can be. Mostly when you’re doing your royal thing.”

“Listen, Majesty,” Phichit says, “Viktor and I aren’t intimidated. We _know_ you, we’ve seen you be… well, _you._ But no one else here knows anything but what the public knows. You’re _royalty,_ first off, and also they’ve never met you when you’re _not_ doing your royal thing. Save like, Chris over video chat once or twice.” Yuuri nods and trades out his empty champagne flute for yet another. “So yeah,” Phichit continues. “You intimidate them.”

“Okay,” Yuuri mutters, taking a sip. “Who all wanted pictures?”

Grimacing, Phichit glances around the room. “It’d be easier to tell you who didn’t. Anyway, I can take them, I know how the Palace gets about an excess of selfies.”

“Vitya, too?”

Shrugging, Phichit looks at Viktor. “Honestly most of us have, at one point or another, asked for pictures with him. I don’t know if they want both of you.”

“I’ll tag along,” Viktor says. “I can hold the champagne if they don’t want me in the photo.”

Phichit nods. “Good plan.”

With Phichit acting as a liaison of sorts, Yuuri makes his way around the room. He greets people again, shakes their hands, poses for photos, all the while downing his champagne like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Luckily, he’s good at keeping his composure and no one notices as he steadily grows more and more tipsy. A lot of people seem to want photos with just Yuuri. Some want one alone and one with Viktor, and others just ask for the both of them. There’s an awkwardness that comes with asking each time, though Yuuri manages to smooth things over with Phichit’s help. Viktor keeps a grin on his face, jokes around with the people he’s more familiar with, and all in all, things go well. Autograph requests are turned down politely, Yuuri explaining that he can’t just go putting his legal signature on everything. No one really asks Viktor, at this point it’d be weird for them to, but a lot of people wish him well after retirement.

Yuri’s the first to notice how buzzed Yuuri is, and he smirks when he sees him. “Had a bit much to drink?” he asks. Viktor can hear the unspoken ‘Katsudon’ in his tone, but Yuri’s good at avoiding using names at all in the interest of avoiding using Yuuri’s title. It seems he’s no longer as angry at Yuuri, no longer holding the resentment he’d carried since Euros, and Viktor lets out a quiet sigh of relief as they joke back and forth.

There’s a warm hand on his back and when he turns, Chris is smiling at him. “You seem in a good mood,” he says.

Nodding, Viktor almost takes a sip of Yuuri’s champagne before remembering which flute is his own. “I am,” he says, “surprisingly enough.”

“He’s good for you.” Chris gestures at the ring on Viktor’s finger and Viktor smiles.

“He is,” he says. Yuuri holds his hand out for his champagne and Viktor hands it over, before holding his flute out to Chris. Chris takes it, confused, and Viktor pulls off his ring, showing him the inside. “We each have half a snowflake,” he says.

“That’s _adorable.”_

Viktor nods, putting the ring back on and taking the flute from Chris’ outstretched hand. “Were you wanting a photo?”

“If you’re up for it. Maybe with Phichit, too?”

“Sure!” It takes only a few words to get their attention, and Viktor, Chris, and Phichit hand off their phones to Yuri so he can take the pictures. He does so, grumbling the entire while. Once it’s done, Yuuri starts chatting animatedly with Chris and Phichit and Hana comes up next to Viktor.

“How many flutes has His Majesty had tonight?” she asks.

“Somewhere around six or seven,” Viktor replies.

She sighs. “Now I have to figure out how to cut him off.”

“I can do it,” Viktor says. “It’s getting late, anyway; we should head back to the room.”

Nodding, Hana hums in agreement. “If you can corral His Royal Majesty,” she says, “I’ll let the rest of the bodyguards know we’ll be leaving soon.”

Viktor moves to his fiancé’s side, whispers the plans in his ear and is grateful when Yuuri nods. Before he has a chance to switch his empty champagne flute out, Viktor manages to persuade him not to have anymore, promising if he still wanted drinks there’s plenty of top-shelf alcohol in the hotel room he can indulge himself with. With the vaguest hint of a pout, Yuuri nods, and Viktor has to resist rolling his eyes as he smiles.

 

The elevator ride up is slow, quiet except for Phichit singing JJ’s theme song under his breath.

“Seriously?” Yuuri asks, now leaning on Viktor.

Phichit nods, continuing to hum before he smiles mischeivously. “I’m the _King_ Yuu-ri no one defeats me, this is who I am, baby, so foll—”

“Shut up, Phichit,” Yuuri mutters.

“Why are you so pissed about JJ?” Yuri asks. “I mean, I know he’s annoying but like. He’s not _that_ shitty.”

Sighing, Yuuri rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “It’s off-putting,” he says. “His whole… self-branding as a king and such.”

“Pissed he’s stealing your title?”

“Not really. I just… can’t imagine wanting it, you know?” It’s clear Yuri’s confused and Yuuri sighs again. “It’s probably because I grew up royal,” he says, “but… wanting to rule… Some royal families tend to have their monarchs abdicate the throne when they feel their time on it is up, but others, like mine… abdication just isn’t _done_ without pressing reason. For me, wanting to become king was the same as wanting my dad to die, and I-I didn’t. I didn’t _want_ to be king and yet JJ’s here doing his thing. It’s not necessarily a _terrible_ thing I just. It’s uncomfortable. For me.”

“It’s why he doesn’t like The Lion King,” Phichit says.

“It’s a fucking Disney movie,” Yuri mutters.

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, “in which the main character, next in line for the throne, sings about wanting his dad’s title. And then his dad’s assassinated which… a bit too close for comfort, you know?”

“Oh.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, Yuri leans against the elevator wall. “I guess it makes sense.”

“Yura,” Yuuri says, “you know this elevator only goes to _our_ room, right?”

“Why the fuck is Phichit in here, then?”

Laughing, Yuuri reaches out, ruffling his hair. “It’s called hanging out, you should try it sometime.”

Yuri scoffs, swatting his hand away. “God, you really are drunk.”

“No,” Phichit says, “he’s not. I’ve seen him drunk. This is not drunk.” Viktor nods in agreement, remembering the frat party in vivid detail.

“I prefer ‘pleasantly tipsy,’ myself,” Yuuri mutters as the elevator comes to a stop. They step out, but Yuri stays behind.

“I’m gonna see if Beka wants to do anything,” he says as the doors close.

“Have fun and sleep well, when you do,” Yuuri says.

“Yeah, you too.” The doors close, and Viktor turns towards his fiancé, pressing a kiss to his lips as they head into the suite.

Yuuri dips into the bedroom to change while Viktor strips down to take a bath. Before leaving the room, Yuuri walks over, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Let me know if you want anything,” he whispers.

“I will, Lyubov. Go, spend time with Phichit.” Part of him wants Yuuri to stay, wants to take a bath with him and brush his hair and cuddle him close, but he knows Yuuri and Phichit don’t get the time together they’d like. Between Yuuri ruling Akitsushima and Phichit staying in competitive figure skating, there won’t be a break for a while, so he’s content to let them have their time.

There’s an assortment of bath products in a cupboard near the tub and Viktor picks a nice-smelling jar of bath salts, pouring them in while he runs the water. While the tub fills, he scrolls through his phone. As expected, footage of them skating has gone near-viral, has been spread worldwide and it seems most people's’ commentary is good. A few jerks have come in and pointed out technical errors or the fact that at the start Yuuri had seemed nervous (and he was, skating in front of an audience as big as the one at the World Championships without ever having done so before) or making idle commentary about some other problem they’d fabricated, but Viktor ignores them. He’s glad to see the world’s love for his fiancé, for their relationship, for the show they put on, and he smiles, liking a few of his competitors’ tweets.

Climbing into the tub is exquisite, hot water melting the tension out of his still-sore muscles. It’s almost as good as the pool in Hasetsu. Almost. Still, he dips his head under the water, wetting his hair, and looks out the window at the city below.

 

Warm lips on his forehead wake him up and the first thing he notices is how cold the water is. Looking up, he sees Yuuri smiling down at him.

“You fell asleep,” Yuuri says.

“I can tell,” Viktor mutters. Laughing, Yuuri kisses him again and pulls the plug out of the drain.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get in the shower so you can warm up.”

“Where’s Phichit?”

“He left like five minutes ago, his flight to Thailand is early-morning and he needs to finish packing up.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Assuming you got in right after you said you were going to, a few hours.”

Viktor sits up. His back is sore, his knees aching from being bent for so long, but Yuuri sits on the edge with a patient smile, holding a hand out when Viktor looks ready. He stands, grasping Yuuri’s shoulder for stability as he steps out. Once he’s on his feet, Yuuri goes over to the shower, turning both shower heads on before pulling off the bathrobe he’s wearing and hanging it over a nearby hook. Shivering, Viktor makes his way over as quickly as he can, almost falling on Yuuri just before he gets to the glass doors. Smiling, Yuuri catches him, kissing his forehead.

“My legs are funny,” Viktor mumbles, still fighting through sleepiness.

“I’ll be in there with you,” Yuuri says, guiding him under the warm spray. With gentle fingers, Yuuri washes Viktor’s hair, scrubs his back, presses gentle kisses to the knobs of his spine as he wraps himself around him. Viktor, considerably more awake, returns the favors, occasionally running his hand down the line of Yuuri’s waist as he gives him a kiss. He has no idea what time it is, but the shower is unhurried. Quiet, slow, it’s peaceful and intimate and wonderful and Viktor can’t keep the smile off his face.

 

~*~

 

Out the airplane window, Viktor smiles as he sees Hasetsu getting closer and closer. Makkachin’s on the seat across the table from him, staring out as well, panting happily while his tail wags, thumping against the seat back. He looks excited to be back. Viktor can’t help but reach across the table to scratch Makka behind the ears with a fond smile. In the month since Worlds, Viktor’s life has been a rush of press and interviews and photoshoots alongside the hustle and bustle of staff packing up the house for their return to Akitsushima. This time, it’s truly a return. Viktor’s time in St. Petersburg has come to a close, and while he still intends to visit Russia as often as he can… he’s home, now. Home is here, in Hasetsu, with Yuuri and his family and their dogs.

Frequently he’d been asked if he regrets retiring, if he’s sure he wants to uproot his life. Viktor had answered with surety that while he loves skating, while he loves his country, it’s time for him to move on and he doesn’t regret any of the decisions he’s made. He truly doesn’t, and as the plane wheels meet the tarmac, a thrill goes through him knowing Yuuri will be here. Where he expects them to pull up alongside crowds, they instead head straight into the private hangar and Viktor’s grin widens.

When he’s arrived here, it’s never been to press and officials bowing and welcoming him to Hasetsu. When he’s exited the plane in the hangar, it’s always been to Yuuri.

Which is why he’s surprised when he steps out to see Mari waiting for him.

Smiling, she waves as he reaches the bottom of the stairs before walking over to hug him. “Yuuri’d have been here but he had to deal with some stuff.” She scratches Makka behind the ears when he jumps on her, making a kissy face at him.

“What sort of stuff?” Viktor asks, taking his messenger bag from his assistant.

“Government stuff,” she replies unhelpfully. Seeing Viktor’s raised eyebrow, she laughs. “One of the delegates in from out of town had something come up where they needed to consult with him before they returned to their province. It’s nothing huge, but they’re leaving today and would either have to extend their time here until Yuuri had a free appointment slot or take like… half an hour of Yuuri’s time to get everything sorted. Yuuri was nice enough to allow it, and I figured I’d come pick up my nerdy little brother.” She gestures at the passenger door and Viktor opens it, immediately smelling the rich coffee sitting in the cup holders. Once Makkachin’s climbed into the back, Viktor takes his seat and Mari smiles at him. “Yuuri made these, yours is the one in back. He said to open it before you drink it.”

When Viktor opens it, he sees a heart, slightly muddled by the drive but definitely recognizable and he smiles, putting the cap back on. Mari hands a dog treat back to Makka before starting the car and pulling out of the hangar. Though the relatively short drive isn’t anything new to Viktor, it’s newly exciting as Viktor looks out at his new home, sipping the (perfect, as usual) coffee Yuuri’d made for him. At a stoplight, a group of students notices them, excitedly whispering to each other before waving at Mari and Viktor and bowing deeply. Smiling, Mari waves back and Viktor leans forward to wave as well.

They pull into the Palace with little fanfare, only a few staff members waiting outside for the arrival of Viktor’s staff and everyone’s luggage. Getting out of the car, Viktor waits a moment to let Makka out before putting his bag over his shoulder and closing the door behind him.

The assembled staff bow, welcoming him back in unison. With a nod, Viktor thanks them.

“I can take the coffee cup, sir,” someone offers and Viktor shakes his head.

“I’m not quite done with it, but thank you.”

With a deep nod they move away. Mari walks Viktor into the Palace, smiling the entire while. “How was your flight?”

“Great,” Viktor says. “I slept for most of it though.”

“Sounds about right.” When she sees his raised eyebrow, she ruffles his hair. “I’m just teasing, come on. Yuuri should be finished soon.”

They walk through the palace, nodding as the staff bows, welcoming Viktor back. Happily, Makka trots at his side, sniffing something interesting on occasion. The residential area is exactly as Viktor remembers which, he supposes, should be expected. An air of timelessness tends to be important in long-standing institutions such as the Royal Family. Yuuri himself had said when they’d gotten here at first that nothing much had changed since he’d left and his initial unfamiliarity with his childhood home had been purely due to the time spent away from it rather than any cosmetic or structural changes. As they get into the residential area, though, Viktor notices more guards than usual.

“Increased security?” he asks.

Mari nods. “We have several guards near each of the entrances to the passages,” she says, “but it’s important for them to be spaced out so people can’t immediately identify where the entrances may be. Having two guards watching over a piece of wall is suspicious.” They take the elevator to the upper floor, making their way towards Hiroko’s suite of rooms. A door opens down the hall and Makkachin sniffs at the air before taking off. Mari smiles as Hiroko’s laugh echoes in the air.

Peeking her head out the door, Hiroko smiles and hurries over, Makka bouncing excitedly at her heels. “Vicchan! Welcome back!”

Viktor jogs the rest of the way before hugging her tightly, almost lifting her off her feet. “It’s good to be home, Kaa-chan,” he says as he pulls back. Calling her ‘mom’ has gotten less weird over the last months to the point of feeling _right,_ and when he’d asked his mothers if they were okay with it, they’d given their full support. After kissing him on the cheek, Hiroko gestures for them to come into the sitting room with a smile.

“Tea will be here in a moment,” she says, taking her place at the table.

“Is Yuuri heading over?” Mari asks.

Hiroko nods. “He’s just finished up. It’ll be a few minutes, though, you know how far it is to his public office.”

There’s a brisk knock on the door and an attendant enters. “Katsuki Hana-san,” he says, before Hana walks in. Once the door’s closed behind them, Hana grins.

“Vitya, it’s good to see you. Mari-chan, Hiroko-san, thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course, Hana-nee,” Mari says, smiling.

“Hana-nee?” Viktor asks. He knows the honorific for ‘older sister’ when he hears it, and Mari blushes as she nods.

“It’s… rubbed off on me, what with Yuuri using it all the time and, well…”

She doesn’t need to finish her statement for Viktor to understand. Hana’s as much a part of their family as Viktor is, the way she’s addressing them proves that. Hugging Viktor, she takes her seat next to Mari, leaving the chair to Viktor’s right open. Makka noses at her excitedly, earning more scratches behind the ears. The attendants come in a moment later with tea, laying out the spread quickly and placing a cup at each person’s place. On the way out, the person pushing the trolley stops suddenly, backing out of the door quickly as another attendant walks in.

“His Royal Majesty The King,” he says. Everyone stands and Yuuri walks through the door, giving the other attendants a nod as they bow.

Though Yuuri looks as put-together as he normally does, the way he’s breathing hard, Nori panting as well, says he’d hurried to get here and the excited grin on his face confirms the theory. Moving his chair out of the way, Viktor hurries across the room, scooping Yuuri into his arms as he kisses him square on the lips, twirling in a circle before setting him back down. Blushing, Yuuri pulls back just a bit, tugging determinedly at something on Viktor’s sweater. Undeterred, Viktor kisses his hair through his crown and smiles. Looking up, Yuuri returns the smile.

“Welcome home,” he says softly, brushing a lock of Viktor's hair behind his ear.

“It's good to be back,” Viktor replies, half-lost in the deep brown of Yuuri's eyes. “It’s good to be home.”

 

~*~

 

Standing up, Viktor shields his eyes from the early afternoon sun and gazes out over the ocean. In his other hand is a bag of trash, collected from the coarse sand and rocks of Hasetsu’s coastline. Spring is ending and the weather’s finally warming up, which means Akitsushima’s environmentalist groups are taking advantage of the mild temperatures to clean up and maintain public outdoor spaces before the heat of summer brings tourists flocking. One group based in Hasetsu had approached the Palace, asked if Yuuri and Viktor wanted to do a walk-around of their facilities or come visit as they’d cleaned and Yuuri’d proposed an alternative: helping out. The Palace had insisted it was beneath him, that he had no reason to mingle with the commoners like this, but Yuuri’d just pointed out that as a resident of Akitsushima, he ought to share in some of the work required to maintain it. Not only would it bring more publicity and interest to the cause, he’d said, but it was also a way to bring in volunteers and connect with the people he rules.

He’d been right. While the organization had anticipated twenty, maybe thirty volunteers for their annual beach clean-up, there are well over one hundred here, all working happily together. At the time of their arrival, detritus had littered the beach, it’d been difficult to walk more than four or five meters without encountering plastic bottles and bags and the like, but with so many people working the job is mostly done, the sand clean and ready for visitors. The school Viktor and Yuuri had visited just after they arrived had also sent students, mostly seniors on their summer break, and they’ve been great at hustling and climbing to more unusual places to fetch trash or hauling heavier bags, and with everything mostly cleaned metal detectorists are scanning the beach for nails or pins or the like, anything that could be dangerous and not easily noticed.

Yuuri’s a ways away, standing ankle-deep in the water with his jeans rolled up almost to his knees. With a short-sleeved button-up and his hair down, he looks downright normal. All that’s missing are his glasses, but regardless… it’s refreshing. It’s far less intimidating than his usual outfits and has gone far with putting people at ease.

Just after they’d arrived, there’d been a few people who didn’t recognize him at all. One of the director’s assistants had asked him right off the bat if he’d help unload the truck, moving boxes of reusable (filled) water bottles they’d brought to hand out to volunteers. Smiling, Yuuri had obliged, moving several boxes before overhearing her saying she’d been told the King had arrived and was wondering where he’d run off to.

“I’m right here,” Yuuri’d said, still holding a box, and Viktor has to admit the expression on the woman’s face had been priceless. After her stammered apologies and Yuuri’s cheerful reassurances that he both expected to work and was neither surprised nor offended by people not recognizing him immediately, dressed as he is, they’d talked about the upcoming day and what Yuuri should expect.

After a break for introductions, and welcome speeches by the organization’s director and Yuuri and Viktor (partially through his interpreter), everyone had been split into groups, given gloves and boxes of trash bags, and sent to assigned areas of the beach to start working. A few street vendors and restaurants had come by to feed the volunteers and keep them hydrated throughout the day, and after a few hiccups, things had gone well.

A solitary milk carton catches Viktor’s eye and he picks it up, puts it in the bag he’s carrying, and walks back to the truck in charge of hauling the waste to the facility where it’ll be incinerated. Quickly, he ties the bag, drops it on the pile, and thanks the workers in Japanese. Smiling, they bow and thank him in return. Though his interpreter stays dutifully at his side, Viktor’s been doing his best to muddle through with the limited Japanese skills he has. So far, so good. When people figure out he’s trying, they tend to slow their speech, use simpler sentences and vocabulary, and let him ask for clarification. Once in a while the interpreter steps in, but over their time working together he’s figured out when Viktor does and doesn’t want assistance.

“Nikiforov-san!” Minami from the skating club walks over, smiling. “I’m curious,” he says in English, “can we get pictures? Selfies?”

“With myself and His Majesty?”

Minami glances back before shaking his head. “I have a picture with The King, but not you. Figure skaters!”

Smiling, Viktor nods and moves close to him. After snapping a few photos, he backs away and bows.

“Can I… twitter?”

“Of course!” Viktor replies. “Please tag me so I can retweet!”

As Minami nods he posts the photo and sure enough, Viktor gets a notification an instant later. It’s one among hundreds, what with people at the event and the organizations involved tweeting and responding and whatnot, but the tweet is easily found and quickly retweeted for his followers. Much of his timeline is full of figure skating, especially younger skaters and Viktor does his best to seem fairly unbiased. He wants to encourage the next generation of skaters, and focusing solely on the ones from Russia and/or Akitsushima isn’t the way to go about that. While the Palace had initially asked him to consider deleting his personal accounts, he’d discussed things with them and they’d come to an agreement. His header on all sites say that there is no political endorsement behind whatever he tweets, and he keeps all posts non-political and lighthearted. At times, it feels almost stifling, but slowly he’s getting used to it.

Looking around in search of his fiancé, Viktor sees him in the food area, a full table in front of him. Some of the vendors are chatting with him, gesturing at certain foods and listening as he asks questions. Yuuri looks interested, almost fascinated, pointing at various items and nodding intently as the vendors talk. Walking over, Viktor smiles at them as they bow, coming up next to Yuuri as he finishes saying something in rapid Japanese. Looking over, he grins.

“Vitya, hi,” he says, smiling. “I was going to sample foods, do you want to join me?”

Helpfully, Viktor’s interpreter translates for the vendors present, and they watch Viktor intently. Smiling, Viktor looks directly at them and nods, saying in halting Japanese “I’d love to! It all looks delicious!!”

The interpreter steps forward at that point, and from what Viktor understands asks everyone to try to take turns talking to make things easier. Everyone agrees, and the oldest man steps forward to talk about his work.

All of the vendors, it turns out, are feeding people for free and working together to absorb the costs so even the smallest businesses could participate. A sizeable (private) donation from Viktor is helping the cause, and he’s glad to see a variety of foods and shops here for everyone to choose from. Many of the people here seem relieved as well, glad to not need to fork over money in order to eat in the middle of a day of manual labor. Viktor’s happy to have helped, and relieved the Palace hadn’t objected to him making use of his own money.

Though each dish Viktor samples is incredible, he can't eat too much. Getting too full to continue would be unhelpful, and he'd feel bad for the people showing them foods later on if he couldn't try theirs, too. Much of what they try is akin to street foods, items meant to be eaten with the hands, on the go. Some dishes are offered in disposable paper containers with cheap bamboo chopsticks. Yuuri doesn't shy away like they seem to expect. A ceramic plate and chopsticks set, put out so Yuuri could have something substantial to eat off of, is left unused (and Viktor feels like they’re somewhat delighted by this turn of events).

Viktor gives what compliments he can in Japanese, doing his best to speak properly, and what he doesn’t understand or can’t say his interpreter gladly translates. Yuuri tends to speak to the vendors in his native language, and to Viktor in English, but conversation goes relatively smoothly outside of that.

As this is still, technically, an Official Royal Appearance, a small group of the Palace’s photographers are here in addition to the organization’s own, taking pictures of Yuuri and Viktor and the people with whom they interact. Always, they’re to assume a camera is on them and do their best to smile and look friendly. It’s not difficult, not here, not with the people they’re with, all coming together to do something to improve the place where they live. The food vendors eventually run out of things for them to sample, and when they’re asked if they want a meal both Viktor and Yuuri shake their heads, apologizing. Neither of them have the room for it, though Viktor does take some fish-shaped bread filled with a sweet bean paste as a sort of dessert.

Once the remaining bags of trash are brought over, it's time to mingle. Cold cans of sweet coffee and bottles of soft drinks and juice are distributed, and large platters of fruit are laid out on folding tables for everyone to eat as they enjoy the remainder of the afternoon. Viktor stays with Yuuri, mingling with volunteers and staff alike as they celebrate a job well done. Normally, people would leave at this point, but Yuuri's arranged for a fireworks display after dusk.

Those who had the forethought to wear swimsuits enjoy the water. Kids in life jackets and arm floaties run around with abandon, and the Nishigori triplets get a group together to make sand castles. Takeshi and Yuuko are here too, having closed the rink for the day so they can chip in. They're chatting with Yuuri at the moment, looking decidedly more at ease than they had when they'd first seen him again. Yuuri'd explained that his frequent trips to the rink to practice what parts of the pairs skate routine he could had resulted in them reconnecting. Though there's still some distance, it isn't nearly as vast as their first meeting after Yuuri’s return. He looks happy talking to them, happy to be here in general, and with the way his posture is relaxed and his laughter is exuberant would make it hard to believe how harrowing this last year has been.

Finally, Yuuri looks at ease and Viktor knows the way he looks at his fiancé is almost sickeningly sappy but he can't help himself. It's been so long since he's seen Yuuri this at ease. In all honesty, he's not sure he ever has. Yuuri comes over and takes Viktor’s hand cheerfully, pulling him towards the sea. Viktor basks in the glow of his fiancé’s joy as they wade through the shallow waters. When someone calls his name Yuuri turns suddenly, grinning and waving. When Viktor turns, he sees Hana making her way over with the dogs. When she unclips Makka’s leash the dog bounds over excitedly. Nori scurries after, but as short as her little legs are there’s only so much ground she can cover.

Makka’s far too close when Viktor remembers just how much his dog loves the water, and as his eyes widen his hand reaches out, Yuuri opens his arms and Makkachin takes a flying leap.

Makkachin is not a small dog and it’s no surprise to anyone when Yuuri gets knocked backwards, falling into the ocean in a blur of brown fur and the pink of Makka’s tongue. Everyone nearby looks around, confused, but when Yuuri sits up Viktor can hear gasps.

The King of Akitsushima is sitting waist-deep in the ocean, sopping wet, being licked by an equally-soaked poodle as he laughs, and though no one quite knows what to do, the tension eases when Yuuri doesn’t get angry. A woman wades into the shallows, holding her hand out to Yuuri and he takes it with a grateful smile, pulling himself up.

“Thank you,” he says in Japanese, wringing water out of his shirt.

Nodding, she gives a shallow bow and says something in return, causing Yuuri to laugh. He comes back with some comment or another, something about Makkachin and water and they both smile at the dog. Hana approaches, and with a dutiful bow she reminds Yuuri that they have spare outfits in case of something like this. Thanking her, Yuuri nods at the woman, thanks her again, and wades out of the shallows.

“I’m going to go change,” he says to Viktor with a smile, before following Hana back to the car. With Makkachin and Nori frolicking in the shallowest parts of the beach (Nori distrusts the ocean and runs whenever the water reaches much higher than her little paws) Viktor has a moment to scroll through twitter. He’s not surprised at what he sees, several people have already posted about Yuuri falling in, video included, and while Viktor ought not to like those specific tweets, they bring a smile to his face.

“Mr. Nikiforov?”

When Viktor turns, a girl about middle school age is standing next to him and she dips into a deep bow.

“Um, can I pet your dog?”

“Sure!” Viktor replies with a smile. “Go ahead, he loves attention!”

She nods and approaches Makka, making scratching motions with her fingers and smiling when he realizes what she’s after and moves close enough for her to pet him. An old man walks up next to Viktor and looks at him. “My granddaughter loves poodles,” he says with a strong American accent, “thank you.”

“Of course,” Viktor replies. “Makkachin loves being pet so it all works out.”

The man nods, smiling at the girl. “She’s a fan of you and King Yuuri, as well. Says you both look like nice people.”

“We do our best,” Viktor says.

“We can tell.” The man turns fully towards Viktor. “We really appreciate this,” he says quietly. “His Majesty is… refreshingly down-to-earth.”

Viktor looks over and the man coughs. “I meant no offense, it’s just… the Royal Family cultivates an air of untouchability, and His Royal Majesty being here today was… well, we expected him to wear a suit and smile and nod and shake hands at the most.”

“That’s what the Palace wanted,” Viktor says softly, “but Yuuri insisted that he help out.”

“He’s a good kid, if it’s not too much to say,” the man replies. “I met the late King Toshiya once, just after I moved here to live with my son and daughter-in-law. King Yuuri reminds me very much of his father.”

“Vitya.” Yuuri’s voice comes from behind him and Viktor turns, smiling.

“Yuuri! I was just chatting with this nice gentleman.”

As Yuuri approaches, the man bows before taking his outstretched hand. “I was just telling Mr. Nikiforov that you remind me very much of the late King, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” Slightly taken aback, Yuuri blinks.

“It’s been many years since I met him, but we did have the opportunity to talk for a few minutes at an event. He was a good man. If it’s not too bold, I believe he’d be proud of the king you’ve become.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Yuuri says, blinking a few times in rapid succession.

The man nods, smiling, before his granddaughter calls him over to look at a seashell. With a final nod at Viktor and Yuuri, he walks away, smiling.

 

Dusk falls, and those still on the beach gather together around a roaring bonfire. Hana sits nearby petting Makkachin while Nori curls up on a towel on her lap, and she chances a smile and a wave when Viktor meets her eyes. Gravitating towards Viktor, Yuuri wraps his arms around his waist and puckers his lips for a kiss. More than happy to oblige, Viktor presses his lips to Yuuri's, tastes the salt of the ocean on him and pulls back with a smile.

“Today's been a good day,” Yuuri says softly.

“It has,” Viktor responds, kissing his nose. Tomorrow they'll be back at the Palace, meeting with wedding planners and going over the menus and decor and whatnot. It isn't a chore, per se, they're both incredibly glad to be getting married and more than happy to be involved in the planning, but it's still a return to the daily formality that accompanies their positions. This event has been a bastion of calm, laid-back and lighthearted and the sort of break they’d been needing from their rigid, structured life.

Slotting himself under Viktor's arm, Yuuri rests his head on his shoulder, sighs happily as he gazes out at the fire’s reflection glimmering on the water.

Once the sun has set completely and stars glimmer overhead, Viktor stands tall, happy and content and hopeful, and he holds his fiancé as vibrantly-colored fireworks illuminate the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> きらめく　Butterfly  
>  **光の中で**  
>  輝くための傷は厭わない
> 
> (There's a shining butterfly  
>  **Amid the light**  
>  "We mustn't fear being hurt so that we can shine")  
> -You Only Live Once, performed by Wutaro Hatano
> 
>  
> 
> Welp, here we are. This is where the story ends, though I'm in the process of an epilogue. It's been an incredible ride so far, and I'm so grateful to all of you sticking with me (or reading through this if this is your first time, hi!!!)
> 
> As far as my first longfic goes, this has been a wonderful journey (a year and a half of my life!!!) and I'd never imagined coming this far. I have plans for more of the side stories, and I'm thinking of publishing a few small AUs because I have Ideas, but as far as The Nature of Things goes, it's a bittersweet ending, but... There are more stories I want to tell and more universes I want to explore.
> 
> Thanks to Isis and Riki and the discord crew for listening to me stress out and dealing with my ramblings, love you all.
> 
> This fic is always going to hold a special place in my heart, and as usual you can always chat about it with me on [tumblr,](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/) [twitter (sometimes nsfw),](https://twitter.com/zombubble) and [pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.io/Zombubble)
> 
> Thank you all.


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